Velveteen: Replay
by Black 13 Productions
Summary: When Dante accidentally releases a violent soul into the world, it's up to him and the soul's only known living daughter to put him back in his resting place. However, Twila seems to be more than meets the eye... And her father's out for her blood.
1. Ivan's Release

**Velveteen -- Replay**

Disclaimer: Devil May Cry and associating characters and locations belong to Capcom games. Not us, Capcom. Got it? Good.

A/N: Sorry for the horrifying shortness of this first installment of the new version, _Velveteen – Replay_. It was originally written in a forum and looked much longer than this. Trust us. Well, since this one was more popular than the original _Velveteen_, we decided to cut production on the original and continue with this one. Sorry if we have inconvenienced anyone. Thank you. Maizoon I'Ren and Company.

**Prologue**

He sat on the wall, watching the patrolling patterns of the gracefully awkward creatures that wandered the grounds, their disturbingly thin and tall figures silhouetted against the blood red sky of dusk. What had they been called? Stiltwalkers?

The hunter grimaced slightly. According to the information given him, the monstrous house on the grounds was guarded on the outside by these things.

They each rose to a massive height of approximately fourteen and a half feet. Their stick-thin charcoal-colored bodies were as such that they could make an anorexic cry in envy; one could wrap their hands about the creatures' middles at least twice. They looked like some deranged artist's wire sculpture come to life by a god-like figure with a sick sense of humor. Upon their elongated oval-shaped heads were set a pair of monstrous eyes, seemingly too big for their faces and glowing red-orange in color. They had no definite hands or feet, looking like they were merely walking on the points their legs ended in. For their disproportionate forms, they moved with a sort of disturbing grace and speed. Despite their mild appearance, however, the beasts were nasty. When anyone touched the ground in their territory, they would come to them with the intent of feeding. Stiltwalkers were carnivorous spirits, not even having the kindness to kill their prey first before rending it to pieces. There were small woodland creatures during his time there that Dante had learned _that_ from.

Anyone who came to these cursed and possessed grounds was safe outside the walls of the property, but once that person stepped within the boundaries of the place, they were pretty much done for. The Stiltwalkers were trained to come after any living thing that stepped within those high walls made of black stone, and the ground heaved up after anything that stepped on it. The gold and red marble porch a good quarter mile from the property line was the safe house and Dante had sat there for a good three and a half hours trying to figure out the quickest and most productive way to make it to that porch, perched precariously in a crouching position on the wall. After all, life wasn't worth living if he couldn't announce his presence with a bang, hm?

One other thing filtered through his mind; his reasons for wanting into the eight-story stronghold in the middle of a grey writhing moat. Someone wanted Future's crystal ball and they were paying him a damn good price for his services in retrieving the object.

Now, normally Dante was unfazed by confronting Death in all its forms since he did that normally. But looking out at the immense manor somehow made him subconsciously nervous. During his surveillance, there were times when the foreboding sense of being in a black corner with no way out had overtaken him. There was something inhabiting that structure that could send the bad shivers flying up the white-haired hunter's back, and he didn't like it. Not at all. The client that wanted the crystal ball of the Fate of the Future had told him that they couldn't make it into the manor on their own for the mere appearance of the place frightened them into submission. Dante could see why.

Thankfully, he had seen many a place like this, so the look of it didn't even click as frightening in his mind. Just the stereotypical hang-out for his least favorite creature, but his favorite prey; demons.

It was an immense structure, made of the same stone as the property walls and rising a whopping nine stories (including the attic) into the air. If one stood on the porch centered in front of it, you could not see from one corner to the next. The windows were made in the Gothic Era style as thin slits curving at the tops to make the points. Set into the wall behind the uncovered porch was a pair of dual mahogany doors about eight feet in height with the same lines as the windows. The entire stoop was lit with two old-fashioned oil carriage lamps hanging about eye level to a man of average height. Along the wall on the left side of the doors was a monstrous stained glass window, though thin for its size, depicting a golden-haired white-skinned woman on a dark blue background holding in her outstretched hands the world, a flock of angels rising from the bottom to encircle her. On the opposite side of the doors was another stained glass window of the same size, this one depicting an immense Shadow Beast-like figure on a dark red background, flanked by little gremlins and demons. Dante understood those two pictures from old books and the like on his travels; Gaia was the woman, a Goddess of Light and Life, supposedly, whilst the Black God on the opposing side of the doors was Chaos, God of All and Nothing. What he did not get was the stained glass wheel window above the doors. It, too, was massive, depicting the Grim Reaper of olden times -- a skeletal figure in a shredded robe -- with a monstrous scythe in its clutches. The blade curled under the figure, dripping something (most likely blood) onto the open bloom of a rose. The rose was attached to a vine that curled in a circle around the figure, the thorns on the vine shaped in such a way, they looked like runes. The background of this was done in gold, the outline of the focal point in the deepest most profound shade of red.

Finally, the sun went down, enveloping the last of the blood red sky in a deep rich blue near the horizon, black studded with white pin pricks everywhere else. The moon peeked timidly from behind a bank of clouds, casting a faint silver-white glow over the landscape. Dante's startlingly blue eyes looked to the manor's property before him, catching the blurry figures of the Stiltwalkers suddenly disappearing around the corners of the manor. Probably changing out the guard ... which meant that this short period of nothing was the devil hunter's cue to start now for the structure.

His legs, bent at the knees to accommodate his lithe frame, shot straight out, sending him flying through the air parallel to the ground. After three seconds of staying aloft, he tucked his body in, rolled once, and came to land on the ground a quarter from his target. The rumors were true; that was easily proved for as soon as he touched the ground, he bounced immediately back up, taking note of where he had touched down, the ground rippled like water in a disturbed lake then reared up in a long tendril, the vibrant colors of the grass muted significantly. The tip of the newly grown appendage bent at a ninety degree angle to the rest of its bulk, the rounded top splitting down the middle to show a great red eye with a black iris and a white pupil. The iris and pupil darted around before narrowing in on the intruder, still in mid-air from his last jump. As the strange creature confirmed the existence of an unwanted visitor, it gave a mournful moaning sound and began after him, raising the lawn in front of its target in a wall to stop him.

The instant the ground blockaded his path, Dante's face split into a grin, his hands flying into his coat to unhook the dual pistols from their holsters. The barrels were aimed -- Ivory at the great red eye, Ebony at the main wall --, his stance changing slightly.

"Well now. Looks like that new fertilizer's doing the trick."

Naturally, he couldn't fire off a couple of rounds without saying _something_. As soon as the last few syllables passed his lips, both the triggers of the massive guns were pulled in rapid simultaneous succession. The bullets hit their marks, as expected. There was no blood spatter, but the creature did give out a loud human-like screech before the eye closed and the barricade was lowered. Though the first threat had been eradicated, there were still others and so neither of the pistols were put back. Not yet.

It was a good call to keep Ebony and Ivory out. The earthen wall was beginning to drop and was soon low enough Dante could use it to get some good leverage for the next trip across the lawn before he had to touch the ground again. The moon had become brave, it seemed, in that amount of time from the hunter's first move to now, the silvery light cascading from the full sphere like daylight, casting odd fluctuating white shadows on the fluttering red coat donned by the half-demon.

The cries of the falling earth guardian had been met by a series of unnerving cooing noises from the other guards; the Stiltwalkers were coming back and it sounded like it wasn't just the night shift coming to greet the newcomer but the entire pack of them. Sure enough, as soon as Dante hit the ground on the ball of his right foot and launched himself back into the air, the full population of the creatures had managed somehow to congregate at the last place he touched down at. By their confused looks and questioning noises, he realized it then.

_They can only see me when I'm touching the ground..._

As if to test this theory, he changed his stance during the flight and came to land sooner than expected, landing on the head and a shoulder of one of the nearest Stiltwalkers to his position. The beast gave an ear-splitting blood-curdling screech and soon all of the others were attacking the one with the intruder on it.

_Alright; the ground and them._ he concluded, bounding away from the one now being mauled.

They never really killed their comrade, just banged it up a bit and went looking for this elusive newcomer. It was hard to keep track of something like him; Dante touched only the guardians when he had to, bouncing off the backs of their disturbing heads long enough to push himself back airborne. He had learned his lesson with lingering and only stayed on any one of the creatures long enough to make it give a 'Mreep?' noise of confusion. Once riled, the Stiltwalkers were very vocal.

Unfortunately for him, he did not foresee the dilemma that came next. Approximately two hundred feet from the porch, one of the creatures he was aiming for moved at the last second and he ended up touching the ground in the center of the pack. They were on him in a heartbeat, wasting no time in attempting to remove him in pieces.

For a split moment, it looked as if it might have been the end finally of the intruder's trek toward the manor. Tables turned however as the roar of gunshots echoed passed the deranged cooing of the Stiltwalkers, who proved ready to rend the flesh from bone, their pointed chins splitting into massive chasms with little pointed teeth inside. Shortly after the first loud bangs were heard, a small portion of the monsters on the inside of the pile screamed and collapsed until there was a suitable hole for the devil hunter to squeeze through and away, keeping the beasts at bay by dispatching them when they came too close. Amazingly, he managed to remain unscathed from that whole ordeal save a few small scratches along one cheek.

"Damn monsters..." he grumbled under his breath before taking aim for a pair of Stiltwalkers that came far too close for comfort."_Down_, boys! ...Girls ... Whatever!"

He managed only to fire one shot; he had been paying more attention to the advancing guard then the porch, which snuck up on him and caught his heel. He stumbled, then tripped, and caught his balance on the upraised marble stoop, watching as the remaining pack of creatures stopped dead and looked around, once more vocalizing their confusion. Their chins finally melded back together, hiding their monstrous maws, and soon the fallen rose back up and the pattern of guards started all over again.

Dante did not move from his spot for a few moments, the gaping maws of his faithful guns still pointed out toward the Stiltwalkers as they went about. A few more seconds passed before he felt comfortable enough to actually return the guns to their designated cradles and lock them back in place. Once done and his body checked for any significant wounds (nothing too serious and the scratches had healed fairly quickly), he was done. A smudge had appeared on the hem of his brilliant red coat, but that was quickly remedied and he was on toward the front doors.

They were lovely doors, rising in the traditional pointed arch of old castle fortresses. The lamps on either side of the doors made them shine with something almost as unearthly as the very air that surrounding the entire property. Carved into the left mahogany door was the figure of a woman, clad in a long dress and a cloak with her long hair flying about her. The border for the carving was a falling of roses, the craftsmanship of it expert. About the woman's form was wrapped a massive amount of great chains, which led to the picture on the other door; a monstrous scythe, covered in the same chains that surrounded the other carving's figure. This one sat amidst a bramble of thorns. Sitting at chest level in the center of both doors was a brass knocker, monstrous in size, but amazingly light in weight. Set above the doors into the stone face was a massive bronze plaque, reading 'Rising Sun'.

There were no definite knobs on either of the portals, so he ended up lifting one of the great metal rings (it was much easier than he thought; he lifted it with one hand as though it were a pillow) and letting it crash against the plate under it at the curve. There was a great booming noise, like thunder, which echoed throughout the insides of the house, the grand front doors doing nothing to muffle the sound. When the sound had faded to almost nothing, there came a new sound; chains rattling, creaking, and straining. A series of loud clicks issued from behind the door, then a louder squeal rose as the doors were pulled slowly open. Once the crack between the two had been opened enough, he strode into the front foyer of the place. He had gone not twenty feet into the room when the doors slammed shut with a thunderous bang and locked behind him, casting the entire room in pitch black darkness. Slowly, gingerly, a dim orange glow emitted from points about his surroundings, eventually bringing the chamber he stood in into light.

It was massive, deceptively so. Lit by dimmed lanterns, the cavernous hall was made of white and grey stone. The ceiling reminded the hunter of a cathedral, the way it flew aloft above his head, supported by a series of white marble pillars carved in the shapes of frightening beasts of old, all twisted in what looked to be anguish. The floor was a grand stone mosaic of the same picture that was depicted on the wheel window above the front doors. Centered above the reaper's head was a fountain made of red stones, pouring clean clear water and filling the chamber with the scent and sound of fresh water, though he noticed there was no sound and that the foyer was sinisterly silent. Surrounding the pool of the fountain was a small set of stone benches. Doors of all shapes and sizes surrounded the room, peering around the pillars from the walls like timid mice with a cat lurking nearby.

Dante strode into the center of the room ... and stepped on something that crunched underfoot. He looked down to where he had stepped to discover a patch of small black roses he had not noticed, the bushel growing out of the ground in the right eye socket of the skeletal face on the mosaic reaper. He took a small step back and was bending down to inspect the small cluster of the black buds when the silence of the room was broken with a small click. He looked up from the floor to notice a small section on the far wall popping open, creating a black rectangle to appear in the pale silvery wall. It was about the right size to fit someone of a smaller stature than he, but it was not too small that he could not duck his way into it. However, the sudden appearance of such a portal was ... suspiciously familiar. Hadn't things like this popped out of nowhere and always led to bad things happening?

The devil hunter rose to his feet and strode forward, looking through the doorway. Nothing but darkness, though the light from the cavernous chamber behind him showed that there was a series of crudely carved earthen stairs leading down into that inky blackness.

"Man!" he murmured to himself. "What a convenient doorway! Couldn't possibly be a trap. Nope. Not at all."

Barely a second went by before he decided to walk across the threshold, knowing somewhere deep within his gut full well that this was the way to go. Once he was fully passed the wall and about six steps away from the doorway, the wall closed up behind him once more, casting him and the way he was to go in complete darkness. He stopped dead, not wanting to go any further until his eyes adjusted to the blackness that surrounded him when a series of torches sprung suddenly to life, lighting the stairs in front of the one descending into the bowels of the manor.

Around curves and across seemingly bottomless chasms, the stairs took Dante deeper. Finally, when the thought that he could take no more of the damn stairs crossed his mind and he contemplated going back, the end grew from around that last corner and he stepped down onto it. The way the basement was set up, he thought of an Indiana Jones flick, with the brave and trusty hero barreling through the caves without second thought to get to the treasure at the end.

"Either someone has a stick up their ass or they really like those old movies." he said to no one in particular and in the end decided he was talking to himself with a mild shrug of his shoulders.

The stairs, much to his chagrin, ended in a narrow corridor that seemed to carry on forever. However, his instinct kept telling him to continue forward, that the target he sought was just ahead, and so he went anyway. Again, the path wound about itself and continued on downward until he was sure he was either going to be nauseous or he was going to hunt down the contractor of the place and kick his ass. Thankfully, the closed in tunnel ended sooner than the stairs did, though it ended before another flight of them that was blessedly shorter than the first.

The room at the end of the tunnel was the stereotypical cave in the beginning, yet hollowed out into a cathedral near the back. Those same disturbing pillars held the domed ceiling above the floor, looking down at the room with great cold eyes. Small lanterns were hung from the ceiling in a spiral pattern, the highest lantern set in the middle of the spiral. The floors were polished pink marble, a half-circle-shaped plateau rising two and a half feet above the floor itself made of the same silver marble that lined the walls in the entry hall. Three stairs were set in front of the pedestal, leading up to it. There was a massive rectangle made of ebony set into the wall behind the pedestal, seven silver plaques well-cared for shimmering with a strange iridescence from the ebony face.

Down the last flight of stairs Dante descended, touching down and striding across the ground to the upraised floor on the opposite side of the room. As soon as he passed the dirt and stepped onto the marble from between two pillars, he stopped dead, his hands moving immediately for his pistols. They froze right above the stocks, not moving any further when he realized the figure resting upon the plateau's top against the ebony wall was either dead to the world asleep or just plain dead.

Not much was seen of the other's countenance, for their face was turned to the floor. By the way their body was shaped, however, one could guess it was either a woman or a man who was very curvaceous and enjoyed the wearing of dresses. Dante would take the former guess, for upon his cautious approach of the figure, he could see the slopes of her breasts through the black silk of the one-piece dress that covered her body, though she lied upon her front. Sprouting from the woman's head was a crown of fine raven black hair, the long waves spilt about and covered most of her down-turned visage and shoulders. Her right arm and hand were tucked under her body, but the left were out in plain sight. The exposed limb, covered from her shoulders to her wrist where the point of the sleeve connected to her middle finger, was long and slender and ended in a doll-like hand covered with the whitest flesh he had ever come across. Her fingers were long, made for playing a harp or a piano, and tipping the ends of them were fingernails. No. Not fingernails. These were more like claws, two inches in length and filed to a point, the points resting on the marble floor under her, her fingers barely curled. Other than that, there was nothing more to see of her; the dress with the torn and fraying bottom hem covered her body quite well. Though he could not see nor hear any breath coming from her, he knew better than to check and see if she was actually dead, and so he merely stayed alert around the being and made his way to the wall with the plaques set in it.

The way the set of seven were set up was with two set on the top row about six inches above the top of Dante's head, a second row of four directly under that at about eye level with him, and a third and final row of just one set at his waist level. By the last names of the people named by them, it was easy to guess that they were a family, dead and buried and this woman nearby was their guardian and caretaker.

"So much for that, then..." he muttered, his voice trailing as the sounds of shuffling arose around him, causing him to look about. It had sounded like silk moving against itself, but the only other one in the room with him that he could see easily was in the same position he last saw her in. A little more cautious, he returned to examining the wall.

The first two showed the names of a man and a woman with the letters of each not engraved but melded in copper; Ivan and Taniya Telikov, Ivan on the left and Taniya on the right. The next row down showed three males and a female actually engraved, in order from the left as Christoph, Christian, Theodore, and Vidanya Telikov. The lone plaque at the very bottom read a single female name that was not only engraved, but lined in a brilliant plating of gold; Miska Telikov.

He ran the tips of his gloved fingers over the names, starting with Miska's. For some odd reason, he lingered longest on hers, feeling a certain attachment to this dead girl he had never known. Once done with her name, he lifted his hand to simply run the flat palm over the others' plaques, continuing with Vidanya's next and running backward from there. There was something about this probably long-since deceased family that he felt attracted to, something in the way they felt against his hand, something that told him this would be his tribute to them, to just remember their names.

Save for Ivan.

Upon lifting his hand from Taniya's plaque, Dante's hand stopped dead at the border of Ivan's. There was something wrong with his, something dark and sinister, a feeling that drew a chill up the hunter's back. It felt almost like there was a creature living within the metal of the memorial and it had a will of its own, like it _wanted_ him to touch it.

It was a passing feeling; it came and went quickly, but not subtly. For a moment, the half-demon just stood there, contemplating on what to do about it. In the end, when he had dropped his guard toward the plaque to check on the sleeping or dead caretaker of the tomb, the thing in Ivan's name drew his hand to the flat metal plate. The instant he touched it, Dante first gasped in mild surprise, turned to face it, and made an attempt to pull his hand away to no avail.

"Shit." was the only word he discovered that described the situation at that moment best.

No sooner had he assessed the situation and was readying for a good strong pull when the thing in Ivan's plaque shot a feeling of terrible anguish the likes not even Dante had felt before, a torment backed and fueled by a wave of pure undiluted rage, one such that made all the demons and hellish monsters he had dispatched seem like nothing when their emotions were combined.

And then came the pain. A physical wave of sheer hurt that engulfed the trapped hunter and made him cry out. There was a loud indescribable noise that echoed around the once silent cavern, the lanterns suspended from the ceiling dimming down, the torches in the caverns behind going out immediately. The pain intensified slowly until, when it seemed an eternity, the plaque let its captive go. He immediately crumpled at the base of the wall still conscious but barely, his entire body seizing in short second-long intervals every twenty or so seconds. The lanterns above remained dim and blurry, though the letters in Ivan's name glowed a sharp blue before they merged together to form a ball of light the same shade of blue as the letters were before.

Dante's body had stopped twitching, now lying still on the top of the pedestal to the memorial, facing up and watching as the ball grew in grotesque ways to form the blurry shape of a man. He had the most piercing grey eyes, setting his skewering gaze to the devil hunter he had drained mere moments before, but other than that, his form was so smudged out that one could tell he was a man and that was the jist of it.

"Good show, boy." the spectre said, clapping his hands. No sound was generated. "Thanks for your help."

And with that and a wicked laugh, the ghost flew up through the ceiling and disappeared. The last thing Dante remembered seeing before the world went dark was watching the woman on the floor not far from him pick herself up and cast a reproachful glare at him with a single eye. He would never forget that eye.

That single, fathomless, swirling eye with the red that tarnished blood itself.


	2. Enter Twila

Disclaimer: Kiki does not belong to any of us, but to a friend of Mai's. She has given her consent to let us use her.

**Chapter 1**

"Oi. Twila. Wha're ye gonna do with 'im? I mean, 'e set yer da free on the worl', aye?"

The sound of a heavily-Scottish accented female's voice was the first thing to reach Dante's ears as he floated out of unconsciousness.

"I want to murder him. Spill his blood across dhe floors and walls. But..." A sigh from a second voice, this one hinting in Russian and also female.

"But?" the first speaker urged.

"But I need him. 'He who releases dhe monster must put it back'. I cannot put my fadher back in his grave; dhis blundering idiot has to."

"Wha' was 'e doin' in 'ere in the firs' place?"

"Dhe Hell if I know, dhe Hell if I care. All I care about is putting Daddy back to sleep and it is his fault he is awake in dhe first place." A low growl was given here. "When dis is over, I will put _him_ in his grave. I was having such a good nap..."

"Twila? Nappin'? Now, I've 'eard e'erythin'!"

Here, there was a laugh from the Scottish one and a low rolling chuckle, much like a purr, from the Russian.

Dante came to enough that he was able to push himself over, a light groan leaving the hunter's lips. Good God, his head hurt...

All laughter stopped as he moved, the sound of shuffling and then footsteps echoing in his ears. It felt like he had a hangover ... and the person jabbing their finger into his forehead was not doing much to help the thing along.

"Oi, Twi! 'E's awake!"

So it was the Scottish one, was it?

A moment of silence and seemingly endless jabbing before he snapped his eyes open, two figures blurred in his vision. At least the owner of the place was using candles instead of lights; the brilliant fluorescent glare would have steeped his head in yet more pain.

A few moments passed before his vision sharpened, the opening of his eyes scaring the shit out of the one poking his head so she stumbled backward away from him.

"'Oly shit! Dinna expect 'im to actu'lly wake up 'r nothin'!" she exclaimed, sitting on her rump halfway across the room.

The Russian was sitting across the chamber on a fainting couch, holding in her white clutches a china saucer and teacup, sipping the steaming contents gingerly before chuckling at her companion. "If you had not touched him, I am certain he would still be asleep."

From what Dante could see, he was in a completely different room from that of the tomb. He had been set on a fairly good-sized lounge to recover from the draining of his energy, the couch set against one wall. There were three walls he could see easily from his position, none of them with windows, but all three with doors. The walls were painted a medium blue, but all the lights in the room were covered with red, creating a violet sheen when the red light mingled with the blue paint. The floor was carpeted in a lighter shade of blue so that the red that touched it made it lavender instead of the violet glaring from the walls. The ceiling was white; it reflected only red, the same shade as the hazy appearance in the room. Across the room were a loveseat, a fainting couch, and an armchair, set up in that order in a curve. Halfway across the floor, a little woman sat, looking both startled and appalled by the scare the half-demon had given her.

After his quick surveillance of his surroundings (he had also managed to take note that his guns and sword had been taken from him and placed out of reach but in sight), Dante's gaze flickered back to the one on the couch, sipping her drink still. He recognized her; the one in the tomb. She looked to be fairly average in height and was lithe in build. Indeed, her skin was as white as he had seen, reflecting the red light like moonlight on fresh blood. Her hair fell in a train behind her, cascading in subtle waves over the front of her seat and barely touching the floor. Her posture was perfect; a straight barely curving spine with her head held with her chin parallel to the floor. And finally, he got to see her face. It was narrow, angled sharply, and fit with the rest of her frame beautifully. Her eyes were slanted ever so slightly and the most brilliant red he had ever seen, swirling and whirlpooling around a slit pupil, a single black line in the center of the irises like a boat caught in an ocean of blood. From there, his eyes were lead down her face as she pulled the cup away from her mouth. Full lips greeted his view, parted ever so slightly and painted in red. The expression on her face was peaceful, or at least that was how he translated the lack of it.

And then there was the other one. The Scottish one who seemed it was fun to poke her finger into him as though trying to perform a fucking lobotomy. She was shorter than her companion and stockier, wearing simply a black tank top/turtleneck sweater-type shirt, a pair of jeans, and a pair of what looked to be hiking boots. Her eyes were a muted red, mostly because of the light. They had an almost metallic sheen to them and by the coloration, he had to guess silvery or damn-near-white-blue. Her hair was ... everywhere, to say the least, copper red in color and pulled back into a ponytail. Splattered across the bridge of her nose and her cheekbones just under her eyes was a pack of freckles. Suffice to say, Dante was happier seeing that the red light had a different effect on the girl's skin, looking a lot like his own; the girl was human. Or at least she looked it.

"Ye know, when ye actu'lly look at 'im, 'e's kinda cute." the one on the floor said, grinning broadly. "Ye can 'lways say to Death tha' 'e followed ye 'ome..."

The more refined-looking one sputtered on whatever she was drinking, having once more lifted the cup to her lips. "And what, Kiki, is it exactly dhat you are implying?"

Kiki shrugged. "Tha' instea' o' killin' 'im, ye c'n keep 'im as ae pet, aye."

The Russian huffed a little, but a small ominous smirk crossed her pretty face, red gaze cast to the hunter on her lounge. "Sit, boy. Roll over."

It _might_ have been funny if maybe she tried putting a little more emotion into it. She had something other than the light frown on her face, but there was no feeling behind it, no humor. Just a dark grey veil clouding the true emotion. She might actually have been drop dead gorgeous if she truly smiled once in a while.

At the sad attempt at humor, Dante grimaced and put his back to the room, calling over his shoulder, "I don't do tricks. Not for you, not for _her_..." Here, he nodded his head to Kiki. "...Not for anyone but me."

He probably should not have turned his back to either one of them, but they did pull him from the tomb and into this room and watched him as he slept. They had all the time in the world to do him harm if that was their intent and they didn't do anything, so maybe they wouldn't now.

"Come now." The Russian again (What was her name? He heard it before he woke up...). "It is not often I get to even crack a smile, much less a joke..."

He threw a sharp laugh at her right then, cutting her off from whatever else she wanted to say. "That wasn't a joke. Even if it was, you won't find me laughing at it."

Kiki made a 'pfft' noise and waved a hand dismissively at him. "Don' ye worry, Twila (_There's her name..._ he thought). The bastard's jes' no' 'ousebroken yet." she cooed, reassuringly.

At that, Dante sat straight up, whirling around to face her, fuming. "I am not a fucking dog!"

Kiki looked surprised for a moment, but snorted at first then burst into laughter. "Well, ye 'ad me fooled!" she replied once she had caught her breath. "'Cuz ye're cert'nly no man!"

By this point, the half-demon had risen to his feet, ready to slam an insult back at her. He was not the only one standing.

Twila had beaten him to it, a low growl issuing from her that sounded like something an animal would do when feeling threatened, particularly a big cat. "Sit down, you impertinent child."

Now that was something _not_ to be tolerated. "Excuse me?" he asked, his tone demanding as he turned his attention now to her.

"Excuse me, indeed." she hissed, eyes narrowing at him. "You. You waltzed into my home, invaded my privacy, put dhe world in danger, woke me up, insulted my friend, questioned my authority, and you expect me to consider you an adult?"

There was a moment of stunned silence. For the first time in ... forever, Dante had nothing to say.

When she received no witty remark or snide retort from him, she nodded sharply, pointing to the lounge. "Sit. _Now_."

There was nothing really much left to do but ... sit as instructed. She deserved that much, at the least; she _did_ render him speechless, after all.

Once he had sat down and gotten himself quite settled, he set his glaring gaze to the Russian who was quite obviously in charge. She glared back, hers much deeper and better practiced as compared to his, which caused him simply to lower his own eyes from hers.

"So. Here is dhe ... dhe ... what was dhat word again, Kiki?"

"Thingamajig?"

"Niet..."

"Diddlydealibob?"

"Da." She turned her attention back to the hunter now. "Dhe diddlydealibob." The way she said the word -- in that slow deliberate way as though she tasted fine wine -- made him try extremely hard not to laugh. Especially since she had an eyebrow raised as if questioning the idea of such a word coming out of _her_ mouth. Needless to say, his attempts at stifling his laughter failed horribly. A few minutes passed in silence from Twila so she could let him get all of it out of his system before she continued.

When the initial burst of laughter had subsided enough she could be heard over it, she added, "You came in here for some reason or anodher. Dhe truth behind it, I do not care, nor would I even want to know if I did happen to give 'a rat's ass'. Dhe point is you stumbled upon my family's tomb and disrupted my nap..."

"Yeah. About that." Dante had regained his composure, leaning back against the back of the lounge he was on. "That was one hell of a nap. Kinda odd the way you were positioned; looked more like accidentally self-induced comatose. What did you do? Crack your head on something first?" He gave a short snort of laughter, only to be stopped suddenly by something hitting his forehead and bouncing off. It didn't hurt, but it certianly was surprising. Upon investigating, he discovered a small shoe sitting in his lap and lifted it up. "Hm..." It was a lovely piece of work; black suede low-top with silver thread sewn across it in swirls and spirals, like smoke. The sole was flat, but curved up about a half inch around the heel. "Well, it's mine now."

There was a scoff from Twila and a low cackle from Kiki. He looked up, an eyebrow raised, and was drawn to the sight that met him. The skirt of her dress on her right side had been drawn up to retrieve the shoe from her foot and thus was actually showing her leg from knee to ankle. Not much in the way of the day's fashion statements, but for her, it must have been a little too much skin. That same fine white flesh covered the slender limb and delicate-looking foot in turn. She was bent partially over, holding her skirt with the long fingers of her right hand, her left hand extended toward him in the 'Give It Back' gesture.

It did not take him long to decide whether or not to give the shoe back to its owner. He just plain didn't want to.

"I thought I made it clear that it's mine now." he replied, smirking.

"It is mine, you ... bastard." she retorted, small hints of anger lacing her voice. At least the anger was real if no other emotion was...

He tilted his head to the left, winked, and replied, "Thanks for pointing that out." He added as he tossed the shoe up and caught it, "Maybe this'll teach you not to throw things at people you don't know."

At that, Kiki pffted. "Twila? Actu'lly learn summat from summat else? Yeah. Righ'. Tha'll be the day..."

By the deepening scowl on the Russian's pristine visage, Dante was preparing himself to be pounced on and wrestled with until he surrendered the shoe. He was only mildly surprised when she simply let the skirt fall and sat back down.

He showed a little more surprise when she snapped her fingers and the shoe melted in his hands, squelched its puddly self across the room, and reformed itself on her dainty little foot.

She took obvious relish in the look on his face in that brief moment, smirking and saying, "You act like you have never seen a shadow move before."

Once said, he cast his eyes to meet hers, listening to Kiki laugh from the floor and say, "Goo' God, 'is eyes look purple! Twila! Twila, ye've go'a see this!"

"I can see it, Kiki. You forget; I am obliged to look him in dhe eye when I can."

At that, Dante had to scoff. "Obliged? Come on. You know you enjoy it. Just admit it. You adore my eyes."

Twila's eyes narrowed at him. "Niet. I do not fall prey to such frivolous emotions as 'adoration' or, Heavens forbid, 'love'. You have eyes. Dhat is good enough for me. Continuing on..."

It was Kiki who interrupted her this time. "Ach. C'me on, Twila! Qui' bein' such ae stick in the mud." Here, she turned to the male and looked up to him in mock infatuation. "I like yer eyes..."

Dante shot an eyebrow up at her. "Yeah, no." He had other things on his mind, like what was it exactly that he had unleashed on the world and catching the eye of the Russian. He was not leaving here without seeing at the very least a little more of that hidden white skin. Not that Kiki was bad-looking or anything, but her friend was a different story. She was ... definitely not like the everyday little slut one ran into on the streets.

While Twila and Kiki went at one another's throats for the time being on something over interrupting being rude, he tuned them out and just watched the one in the dress, the way the silk pulled against her body and defined her curves more. The way she sat, the dress pulled back against her body, outlining every stitch and seam of what appeared to be a corset of sorts covering her upper body under the dress, a pair of panties seen below that. Not a thong; he'd recognize the lines of a thong any day. These were actual panties, a rare commodity on anyone nowadays. His eyes trailed up her body, watching the reddish haze cast purplish highlights over her hair, saw the waves of raven black follow the lines of her body...

He was drawn away from his observations of her when she suddenly spat a string of Russian curse words that could easily put him to shame in quantity. Not like he understood Russian at all, but it took her a whole six and a half minutes to finish and by the pauses between them, it certainly sounded like she was well-rehearsed in expelling such things. Plus, given the situation, she was probably cursing.

When Twila was finished with her little fit, the entire room fell deathly silent. With a sharp nod to Kiki as if to establish superiority, she sat back up straight and turned once more to Dante.

"Now dhen. You stumbled on my family's tomb and released my fadher." she purposely left out the nap bit to skip a relapse of past mistakes. "Papa died suddenly and violently, regardless of it being an accident. When a soul becomes freed under dhose circumstances, it becomes restless and eventually turns violent. Papa had been dead for so long, his own special power grew. Now, all he has to do is wait a few days and he will be able to walk around, solid like a normal human being. His memorial was dhe only dhing strong enough to hold him, and now you and whatever it is you carry with you has broken his seal and set him free." She paused as if to let it all sink in before continuing. "Dhere is a saying in my native home; 'He who frees dhe beast must put dhe beast back'. In odher words..."

"I'm stuck hunting this guy down and resealing him?" Dante finished.

"You catch on well. Bully for you."

A compliment from this woman. He had a funny feeling that it was quite the honor to gain any sort of positive comment from her.

"However, it is more like murder if we do not catch him within dhree days' time. He walks solid on dhe earth dhen. If dhat is dhe case, it will be easier to deal with him; you kill him and he returns directly to his grave. Dhe attempt will be grueling, for he will be stronger dhan in his spirit form. However, if he _is_ still in spirit form when we catch up to him ... you will need me."

"Alright. So I made an oops. And now I have to fix it, but you see, I can't do anything without a price. I've got a reputation to uphold and a life to live."

Twila said nothing, simply narrowed her eyes at him. After a few moments, she spoke. "Very well dhen. What do you want?"

"Well, we'll say Future's delving crystal, for starters. Make it a down payment or something..." Her narrowing eyes told him exactly all he wanted to know. "I see you know what I am talking about..."

"Of course I know what it is you want. I will retrieve it for you later. And dhe rest of your 'payment'?"

A sly smile crossed the devil hunter's face. "We'll talk about that when I have the crystal..."

She contemplated this idea before rising. "So be it. Tomorrow morning, I will have dhe seeing glass ready for you to take. For right now, let us all retire for dhe night. We will need all dhe rest we can get when we start out, since Papa is hard to track down and he will not go down without a fight when we do catch up to him."

Kiki, who had not spoken since her bout with Twila, nodded her head and stood up. "Oi. Goo' idea."

Twila also rose, followed closely by Dante. She turned to him, setting a light glare on his form. "You. Dhis is your room. Dhe filters over dhe candles do come off if dhe red light bothers you so. Dhe bathroom is over dhere..." She pointed to the door on the wall she was sitting against. "Odher dhan dhat, I do not want to see you out of your room before dawn. Dhe Rising Sun is massive and easy to get lost in for a newcomer."

He gave a small sigh. "Fine. I'll stay in here."

The Russian nodded her head at him. "I will send one of dhe twins up here to give you somedhing to eat. Anydhing in particular you feel like?"

A small smirk crossed his face then. "You wouldn't happen to have a pizza hanging around, would you?"

A small bit of silence followed, Kiki snickering off to one side. "I dhink we can arrange somedhing." Twila said finally. "By dhe way, do not feel unnerved at any sounds you hear during dhe night. Dhe Rising Sun cries every so often, as ... quirky as it sounds. Dhat is all it is, dhe house crying. Nodhing is wrong." At his questioning look, she lifted an eyebrow back at him. "I suppose you will see in..." She looked down the hall at a fairly large grandfather clock set near a flight of stairs. "...An hour and a half."

The hunter gave a small nod. "I suppose I will then."

As the Russian and the Scot headed down the hall, Kiki called over her shoulder, "'N' dun' ferget; don' leave yer room withou' ae guide!"

Once the pair of girls was out of earshot, Kiki looked up at her friend. "Noo, I know tha' ye weren' really sleepin'. I mean seriously. Since when do ye actu'lly sleep, aye?"

"You are correct. I tripped."

There was a moment of stunned silence before Kiki erupted in a bout of maniacal laughter, a fit that echoed throughout the halls.


	3. Midnight Noise

**Chapter 2**

She most certainly was not kidding when she said the house cried. At least the pizza was good; whoever the cook was, there were compliments in order. When the knock came to his door, he was not hesitant to answer it, opening the threshold to be blasted in the face with the scent of cheese, tomato sauce, and sausages mixed with assorted vegetables.

His gaze fell on a pair of small girls who looked about eight or nine years old, a little smile plastered across both their adoring faces. Transylvanian. The shape of their faces was unmistakable, white blonde hair falling in shining cascades down to the shoulders of the one with the large plate in her hands, the shoulder blades of the one holding an unopened bottle of something (it was unlabeled and so he could not tell the contents, yet hoped they were alcoholic. He really needed a drink about now). The short-haired one had her fine locks pulled back out of her face with a pair of barrettes, the long-haired had hers in a braid. Their eyes shimmered a purple blue, yet when the light hit them just right, they gleamed a dark red if only for a second. They were both clad in black outfit much like that seen on Alice in just about any interpretation of 'Alice in Wonderland'. At the valley of their collarbones, they both had what looked at first to be a black smudge, but closer inspection revealed it to be a black ankh, tattooed into their fair skin.

Both bowed, placing their right feet behind their left and leaning forward in complete synchronicity, no flaw to their movements.

"We bring the requested meal, sir." the short-haired started before her obvious twin continued it.

"Pizza and ginger ale. Spiked with the finest vodka on this planet."

It was hard to keep the grin from surfacing, but he managed it, stepping to the side with not but a smirk on his face. The room beyond was better lit; he had removed the red covers as told he could.

"Well then. Do come in." He also tried to hide the excruciating amounts of enthusiasm unsuccessfully. "Just ... feel free to set those on that table there. That's it. Thank you so much, girls. You've just made my day."

The hunter might be an ass toward those willing to take it, but to children, he tried to keep it to a minimum. After all, he remembered well enough how literally kids took things. That and sometimes there was more power to them than met the eye. If he said the wrong thing, he might find his arm halfway down the hall and he rather liked it attached.

Once the girls were out of the room and had given their exit bow, the door was shut and Dante was back on the lounge, munching the first piece of pizza. He was halfway through it when the first of the house's vocalizations began. It was faint, causing him to stop and question whether or not he had actually heard it. When he did not hear it again, he shrugged it off as either lack of sleep (but he had gotten a full night's sleep beforehand, so that couldn't be it) or one of those twins falling and accidentally scrapping her knee.

Upon dismissing the noise (whatever it may be), he returned to his meal. The house did not take being ignored lightly, but it did not make itself known all that quickly either. In fact, three quarters of the pizza was gone and a little under half the bottle of ginger ale had been consumed by the time the first real cry had echoed throughout the corridors.

Well, technically, it was more of a shriek, like a little girl was getting hit and with each strike from her assailant, she would scream. The first time it happened, Dante shrugged it off as something to do with the mix of sustenance in his system, amplified by the alcohol in his drink. He did not hear another thing for ten minutes and was beginning to drift off when it began again.

It was at its loudest, the sound of the scream-sobs making the candles flicker. The instructions to not leave the room were lost under the film the vodka in the ale had set and he stood up from his resting place on the lounge, set just Ivory to its designated spot on his belt, made his way to the door, and opened it. The moonlit glimmering hall beyond the door greeted him, casting everything in a light silver hue. The entire wall was made of windows, letting the moon's light float through the air. The house gave another screech and cry, then fell into a fit of whimpering.

By that point, Dante had left the confines of his room, wandering down the hall and looking around whenever the walls cried. Twila was correct; the sound _was_ a bit unnerving. It never really occurred to him to check how many floors up he was or take note of any particular landmarks while he was out and about, just to count the doors from his room to the stairwell.

He turned a sharp corner at the stairs and headed down, grumbling something along the lines of how he was going to kill whatever was making the noise. Hell, he was already on Twila's bad side, let's make it worse.

He had finally hit the ground floor after a series of hairpin corners on the stairs, weaving slightly to one side before continuing on his way. He was turning down one corridor to the next before he had come to realize what was happening; the place was a labyrinth, a maze. A very complex one by the looks of things.

A light muttering of some inaudible curses left him before he stopped. Was that the pair of twins from earlier? Indeed, a pair of small children dressed in knee-length black skirts, little black blouses with puffy sleeves, and light hair were standing at the other end of the hall he was currently standing in.

One of them turned around, the short-haired one, and she gave a startled gasp. "Oh my, sir. You shouldn't be out and running around for at _least_ another couple of hours. The house is feeding now; it is dangerous for a mortal to be wandering around like so."

"I'm not a mortal and I don't appreciate being labeled as one."

The girl giggled. "Dearest guest, compared to those who live within these living breathing walls, you are mortal."

"And what _exactly_ is that supposed to mean?"

The long-haired one, not as flighty as her sister, spoke up, her voice calm and collected in its tone. "You will eventually learn the truth. For now, you must not ask such a thing. You _could_ get in trouble."

"And maybe I _want_ to get in trouble. Ever think of that?" he retorted, crossing his arms at his chest.

The long-haired one's eyes narrowed slightly. "It is best not to dabble in that which you cannot possibly fathom." Her eyes were cast to her sister's smiling face, the glare lessening considerably. "Is that not correct, dear sister Marci?"

"Indeed it is, Maci." Marci looked up at the hunter, that same happily deranged smile upon her petite little face. "We had best get you back to your room, should we not? You have quite the long day ahead of you."

Before he had room to reply, the twins had grasped an arm each and began to lead him back down the labyrinth.

Sometime during the trip, Marci was heard to say, "Appearances are _quite_ deceiving. Rising Sun is merely an example."

Maci added in that cool tone of hers, "Indeed. The house looks simply like a marvel of engineering on its outer facade, but deep within, it shows more. _All_ structures have a soul, a life, but few of these actually _prove_ it. Ignore the screams that echo within these halls; the cries are merely the lure on the stalk of the angler fish, the noise its light in the abyss. As the fish draws prey with that light, the cries draw prey to their deaths. Many a life has been lost in these walls, many a soul left to wander..."

For all his tugging to pull free of their grasp, the twins were strong, holding fast to him until they reached a staircase. He wasn't sure if it was the same stairs or a different set, but they went up and that was all that mattered. After all, the girls were starting to freak him out a bit. Such odd children, if that was what they were.

"You simply _must_ return to your room. The house has but one maw and it does not move, so you are safer in your given chamber than you are anywhere else in the house until the cries stop." Marci said as she let him go.

"And when does it stop crying?"

The next answer from Maci was not exactly one he wanted to hear. "When it is fed."

Marci eased the tension in the air a bit by adding, "Or until the sun comes up. The house feeds only at night."

A bow was given from both the girls, accompanied by saying, "Good night and fare thee well on the morning's tide" in unison. They disappeared shortly afterward, leaving Dante looking slightly disgruntled. Between the two of them, he could hardly get a word in. So he simply humored them and trotted up the stairs.

He left the stairs at the fifth floor, assuming he had come from that floor and making his way down the corridor with its dimmed oil lamp sconces. Six doors down, he pushed the door open and walked in.

It wasn't his room, with dark blue carpets and medium blue walls, the high ceiling painted like the night sky. A massive chandelier hung from the center of the ceiling about two or three feet down, the wax candles completely out. On the wall to his left was a vanity and dresser, carved of cherry wood with the feet and corners carved like Asian dragons, looking out into the room with gentle benevolent eyes. Resting upon the vanity was a silver hairbrush with the most uncomfortable looking wire bristles, a hand mirror that obviously was a part of some long forgotten bathroom set alongside the brush, and a ceramic pitcher and washbowl. The pattern on the ceramic was a deep red background with the edges painted in black and made to look like the paint had run down the sides, almost like black tears. The pitcher was on the basin's right side, a white square of linen hanging off the edge of the bowl. On the right wall opposite the vanity was a fairly large four-poster bed, the mattress and linens beyond veiled by nearly opaque curtains made of a fabric the same shade of red as the sunset the previous evening. The framing was made of the same wood as the vanity and dresser, the posts that held the red sheers carved in the likeness of one of the Aztec gods; the plumed serpent, Quetzalcoatl. Centered in the back wall of the room was a pair of dual French doors framed by heavy drapes the color of evergreen. There was a window set on both sides of the doors, showing a patch of soft orange in the sky beyond the property line where the nearest city was. There were still the three doors he remembered, including the one he stood in; one to the bathroom, one to a closet, one an entry and an exit.

Well, any room was better than no room. With a swift look around, he noted only the evidence of someone living in the room, but no person whatsoever. Their loss, his gain. In all honest truth, he couldn't have given a rat's ass whose room it actually was and to prove it, he wandered over to the far side of the bed and pushed the curtains on that side away. Still no sign in the bed of the person who had this room. He flopped onto the mattress and almost fell in; it was that soft. A few moments to set it into his head where he was and he was out like a light.

* * *

Alcohol can play tricks with one's senses and, initially, their mind. Thankfully, Dante was a relatively quiet sleeper, else he would have discovered that very effect the alcohol in his drink had on him. Twila was practically buried under the blankets on the opposite side of the bed and her white face and halo of raven black hair matched the spider web patterning of the pillowcases almost perfectly.

Also on the trespassing hunter's side was Twila's method of sleep. Whenever she closed her eyes for an extended amount of time and lost her mind from the waking world to the unknown world of dreams, she died on the mortal plane. Her heart stopped completely and she breathed nothing until either something (or someone) woke her up or the sun rose. The other sharing her bed tossed and turned and mumbled a few times during the night, but none of his actions were strong enough to rouse the original inhabitant.

The guard of Stiltwalkers outside the building had been switched four times before the horizon in the east began to glow gold-pink. It was the sun that woke Twila, the golden rays of light cascading through the windows and the French doors, filtering through the drapes about her bed and coming to rest on her. It was almost like a god had touched her, for as soon as the light fell completely upon her, her chest heaved in breath. The first deep breath was followed by the regular series of shorter shallower breaths and her heart once again began to pump.

A few moments after she began living again, her eyes lifted open slowly, taking in the sunlight, her once wide slit pupils contracting suddenly to the thickness of a line drawn with an impossibly sharp pencil. A few moments more passed before she rolled over to face the other side of the bed ... and stopped dead, a small squeak of surprise held back to a mild 'squirk'. Her face was mere inches from that of the guest hunter's.

Once she regained her composure and had backed up a little more, she decided a wake-up call was in order. After all, one did _not_ crawl into her bed and expect to get to sleep in. She shifted herself a little more toward the edge of the bed, reaching over to snatch up the first object that came to her hand, the tips of her nails brushing over a nasty bit of work, something she knew would either wake him up or knock him out cold on her floor. In her mind, either one was good; either way procured his leaving of her bed.

She wrapped her fingers around one of her rarely-worn 'raver's' boots, a delicious bit of footwear that weighed a good thirty-eight pounds. When worn, it rose to mid-calf on her, made of the traditional black leather with thick laces made of the same material as the boot criss-crossing their way up. The grooved soles were almost six inches thick, raised an inch higher at the heel. The biggest factors in the thing's weight were the insides at the toe and heel; the inside of the boot at those locations was plated in a half inch of steel. Across the sides dangled small lengths of chain, four on each side, and a series of three belts in between the chains wrapping all the way around the footwear.

Twila lifted herself from the beneath the bed covers, letting the emerald green Egyptian cotton linens fall and reveal her body clad in a knee-length robe of palest pink made of the same material as her blankets. She took a stance on her knees for stability, aimed quickly, and threw the thing at him. She did not throw it in her version of the word 'hard'; had she done that, the boot would have probably caved his head in, so she only giving enough force to cause him hurt, if not wake him up. It hit Dante square in the forehead with the tip of the toe, causing him to wake with a start, a bizarre noise rising from his throat as he rolled backward off the far end of the bed, followed swiftly by the boot he had just been hit with.

There was a moment of light moaning from the floor before he sat straight up, holding his forehead at the place where the boot had made contact with the ball of his right hand. "What the fucking hell was that for, you bitch!?"

Twila's eyes were narrowed severely in his direction, masking the mild surprise that the light-colored gun at his side had not been drawn and aimed at her. It took a few moments of trying not to double the attack and smack him straight up, thinking the boot did enough of that for her. Therefore, she answered coolly, "For me waking up and finding you right next to me. Trespassers of my room do not get dhe luxury of actually _sleeping_."

"Well you didn't have to throw something like _that_ at me, did you!? I mean ... God _damn_! I swear to fucking _God_ you just broke something!"

She shrugged. "It was dhe first dhing I came across. It obviously taught _you_ a lesson..."

"And you couldn't have looked for something _else_!? As _opposed_ to trying to maul me with a fucking three-ton _shoe_? For God's _sake_, who wears a fucking _three-ton_ shoe!?"

"It taught you not to come flouncing into my room in dhe middle of dhe night, da?"

"Well ... well yeah, but only because I'm afraid that _next_ time, you'll hit me with something _bigger_! God... It really feels like you _broke_ something. What if it doesn't set right?"

"And dherefore, I win. Now. Out." She clapped her hands and pointed out the door, which had been shut (or shut itself) sometime during the night.

There was no argument. Just a very pissed off devil hunter and a calmly pissed off ... whatever she was. He went very willingly, but did not turn his back on her until he was out the door with the threshold closed again behind him. By that point, the sharp pain he had felt in his head from the boot had fallen to a dull throb and so he did not need to hold the palm of his hand to the contact point any longer.

Once alone, she waited a few moments more before reaching over the edge of her bed to pick up her boot. Amazingly, he did not claim it as his this time through. Than again, it seemed as though he had ... other things on his mind. She chuckled to herself as she slid back over to her side of the bed and set the boot with its twin, rising to her feet and looking at the door briefly. A click sounded from the knob and though she knew it would not hold Dante for long should he want in for some reason, it would still hold for a long enough time for her to become decent again. She undid the tie at her waist and dropped the robe from her shoulders. Aizl would come pick it up later and clean it for her before putting it back folded on the bed. The Daemoness always did.

There was nothing under the robe, just bare white skin. She moved like air across the floor to the vanity, looking in the larger mirror set at the back of it and sighing.

"Still only twenty-one..." she muttered before taking the cloth from the wash basin and making her way to the bathroom. The door was opened and she disappeared behind it, shutting and locking that door as well.

The tub and counters were made of pink veined marble, the cupboard doors beneath the sink made of a fine oak. The tub, sitting in the back right corner, was more like a hot tub in size with a more elliptical shape and a good sized shelf in the back corner behind the basin. This was covered in books and the occasional dark-loving plant. On the left wall was a door that lead to a small room for the toilet and other necessities of such.

A stack of freshly laundered and folded towels lay on the counter nearest the tub (there were no racks in the bathroom and that spot was within reach of the bather), that day's outfit laid out for her on the other side of the counter by the house's self-proclaimed 'butler'. It was the dress styled after the Middle Age peasants; a dark red ankle long skirt, a couple little white underskirts about the same length to give the top red layer a little bit of body, a white blouse that tied in the front instead of buttoned, a pair of black tight-woven lace underwear, and her corset. It was made to be worn on the outside of the shirt this time, black suede leather with intricate lacings up all four sides and a top line that curved in gently. Resting on the floor in front of the outfit were the shoes that went with it; grey lady's shoes popular at the turn of the century. They rose to right above one's ankles and buttoned up the insides, the toes squared off. The soles were an inch thick, the heels raised in the traditional wide high-heel to about four inches.

A small smirk crossed Twila's face as she thought to herself just how good Aizl really was to her. The Daemoness neither spoke nor understood anything outside Daemonic (it was a good thing the Daemon's mistress could speak the language fluently), but she had a good idea of how to analyze what a person meant by the tone they used. She was just unable to hold a regular conversation with someone. She cooked and cleaned and minded the Rising Sun when Twila was out and about and took care of the twins... She did everything.

A mild stretch was given from Twila, listening to the cracks and cricks in her back and shoulders before leaning forward and turning on the water to the tub. She looked around again and, with a sigh, realized that there was to be no wine this time through. Ah well; she would live...

A wicked laugh rose from her now, her lips actually pulling back to her gum line, revealing her teeth. Nasty pieces of work, her teeth were, and larger than one would expect. All of them were pointed with serrated edges, much like a shark's teeth though in better alignment. The shortest ones were the incisors along her top and bottom jaws at two inches, the longest being the canines on the top at six inches. A set of secondary canines rested behind those, four inches in length, a bottom set of canines that fit neatly between the two above at three inches long. Once fully unveiled, it was amazing to know how well she kept them hidden ... and the fact that there was no speech impediment proved further her skills in keeping them out of mind of others.

A sigh as the laugh subsided escaped her. She muttered, "Assuming I am living..." before chuckling the initial burst of laughter away and sliding into the steaming, steadily climbing water of the bath.

* * *

At first, he thought the thing stalking down the hallway was a hallucination brought about by the blow to his head. He had closed his eyes and shook his head several times as if that would dispel the beast.

It walked on four legs and had its head bowed. It rose to his eye level in height to its shoulders, pointed ears perked forward. Its dirty black fur was scraggly, showing the body beneath to be thin and malnourished, though it was quite muscular for its diseased appearance, the black skin rippling with the shadowy light produced through the windows of the hallway. A long almost rat like tail dangled behind it, swinging back and forth limply like a dead snake. The eyes were still wide and bright in brilliant red, its lips pulled up over a long pointed snout lined with yellowing decaying teeth, a low threatening growl emitting from its throat whilst what was left of the creature's hackles rose. The air around it smelled of fresh dirt and rotting flesh, an indication the creature was dead, much like a lot of the inhabitants he had been around within the walls.

The animal stopped dead in its tracks a couple of yards from him, its head lowering further. Its growl deepened, its gaze seeming to narrow at him. Dante lifted an eyebrow, setting his hand on the stock of Ivory more for retaliation should the creature attack suddenly than it was for comfort. Strange beast...

Testing his limits, he took a small step closer to the animal. It reacted, but not in an attack, like what he was expecting. Instead, the jaws opened wider for a moment, the black nose at the end of its muzzle twitching before it snapped its jaws at him in a series of loud barks, its hackles raising a bit further.

"Oh. This is just great." he grumbled as the dog creature backed up half a step and resumed growling at him. "I haven't a fucking clue where they holed me up for the night, but I know their damned Grim's between me and it."

A door somewhere behind him opened and he heard a familiar voice; Kiki. He never thought he would be happy to hear her pop up suddenly.

"Touqel! Keep it down ou' the'e! 'F it's the freak with the red coat, le' 'im be; 'e's ae gues' noo."

The Grim, Touqel, stopped immediately, lifting its head and tilting it to one side, accompanied by a whining noise that indicated mild confusion. Either way, it dropped its threatening facade and lowered its head again, its ears falling back lightly in a relaxed look as it walked forward, swerving its body to walk passed Dante. He watched the dog creature continue on its sulky path for a little bit before continuing on his way.

It took him about an hour and a half, but eventually he finally came across his own room. He caught sight of himself on a small oval-shaped mirror hanging on the wall across the room and thanked whatever god there was out there for giving him speed healing abilities; the bruise was already almost gone. There didn't seem to be any abnormal bumps or divots either. All was good.

For a few minutes, he contemplated on whether it would be safe to leave his room again. Shrugging, he eventually decided it would be good enough to leave. He turned around from the mirror, his startling blue gaze falling immediately upon the table his meal had been set on the night before. There was a box sitting where the pizza had been; the remains of the food and drink had been taken away.

It was a pretty big box a little larger than his head, made of maple wood. The top had a carving of a dragon. If the top was turned right side up to the viewer, the panel directly in front had a gryphon holding a sphere carved on it, the right had a unicorn with cloven hooves and a lion's tail in a partial rear, the left a pegasus tossing its head with its wings splayed, and the back a mermaid holding a human skull and combing her hair. There was a latch on all four sides of the lid, holding it shut.

Ever so carefully, Dante threw all the latches and lifted the fitted top off the box. The inside was lined in black velvet and cushioned, holding in its soft confines a sphere that was the size of his head wrapped in dark blue silk. Cautiously, he put his hands under the curve of the thing and lifted it out. It would not hurt to check the merchandise, now would it? The sphere was set onto the table in between him and the box, the silk pulled back to reveal it was again wrapped in light grey silk and once more after that in white. Damn, the thing was concealed beneath so much silk, one would think someone did not want the thing to be seen. The last bit of the cover was being lifted away when a certain whimper reached the hunter's ears from the doorway.

Normally, he would have just ignored the Grim ... except for the fact that the temperature in the room seemed to drop around ten degrees. He dared himself to look up, nearly stumbling backward from the glare that was shot in his direction. It was not from the dog, either; Twila had emerged from her room and had come to retrieve him, Touqel at her side. She was obviously not the happiest person at that moment.

There was something about her in that moment, whether it was her ominously back-lit form in the doorway or the fact that all the candles in the room had gone out simultaneously at her approach, which told him all she needed to say without words; _Put it back_.

There were a few seconds of him contemplating whether or not he should put the ball back and eventually all the factors showing in the room at that moment weighed against his wanting to see it at that particular spot in time. He wrapped the thing back in its layers of silk and put it back in its box, then closed and latched the lid.

"There. It's done. Happy now?"

"Da." was the only word that left her at that moment, her silhouetted frame turning sharply and walking down the hallway out of sight.

Dante followed her out after attaching Ebony to his waist belt under the cover of his coat, his sword set into its scabbard at his back. Whatever was in that box, he was going to get at the very least a look at it, whether or not the former owner of the thing liked it.


	4. Taking Leave

**Chapter 3**

It was difficult to tell what exactly happened. One second, they were peacefully walking down the hall with Twila and her pet Grim in front leading. The next second, she had let off a bloodcurdling shriek and Dante soon found himself nearly toppled over with the white-skinned compact frame of the woman practically attached to him.

When he had finally found a way to see passed her quivering form, he almost dropped her to burst out laughing. Skittering off down the hallway like a bat out of Hell away from the sniffing Touqel was a spider. A minute little thing, barely a pinprick on the brilliant red carpet of the hallway. Nothing that anyone should be afraid of.

He watched with grand amusement as the Grim followed the arachnid further down the hallway, poking it with his nose from time to time before being a dog and eating it. Once done, he came trotting back with what Dante took to be the biggest shit-eating grin he had ever seen.

"That was just disgusting, Mutt." he sighed before looking down at the cowering ball of flesh and fabrics in his arms where she had eventually come to rest. "It's gone now."

She shook a little more, said nothing, and amused the hunter ever further.

"Come on. I know you can talk. You'd be one of those few I couldn't forget so easily."

He shifted her just a little bit so he could hold on to her better, a hand moving up to barely brush her bare lower right arm. He damn near dropped her in surprise; through the glove of his own hand, he clearly felt the chill smoothness of her white skin, never mind the leather between her flesh and his own. She moved then, gripping tightly to him.

"It touched dhe floor. Do not put me down. Please..."

A few awkward moments passed, Dante getting steadily annoyed by her arachnophobia now. "Oh come on. That's just ridiculous. The fucking dog _ate_ it. It's dead and gone. It's _not_ coming back."

A couple more moments passed by before she turned her head, red eyes narrowed at Touqel. "Dhat is despicable, Touqel."

The Grim responded by perking his ears forward and tilting his head to one side with a small questioning whine, the whip of a tail beginning to wag gently for a second before his ears flattened to the crown of his head. His narrow jackal-shaped nose was tilted upward toward his mistress.

"Do not even dhink of trying to lick me for repentance of dhe matter. I do not want it all over me..."

Touqel gave a hurt whine, his ears flattening still further against his skull, and he backed up a little bit.

"Eat somedhing to wash it down and dhen we will talk."

A 'merf' noise was emitted from the creature before he backed up some more and lowered his head again. Twila, upon seeing her pet move away, wrapped her little arms around Dante's neck, reaching a foot down. Her toe touched the floor, bounced up and held a moment. Upon seeing whatever she was afraid of not happening, she set the entire foot down and slid slowly from his frame.

When her arms were leaving, the skin brushed by his throat, irking a small noise from him. The air suddenly fell still and silent, Twila turning her head gracefully to look at him. Or more like glare at him. It was a basilisk's stare, the red of it seeming to seer the insides of his body.

"Hear that?" he started.

Her eyes narrowed further. "What?"

"That crackling." He was trying to draw attention away from his slip, obviously. "I think that's the air freezing."

A low growl was given as his reply, the glare remaining, as she turned away. "I do not appreciate..." This word was spoken in Russian. "...Making dhose sorts of comments. It is one of my pet peeves."

And so the procession began again, with Twila flanked by Touqel up front and Dante behind. But he liked the view better from back there; he had just taken up notice a sort of swivel in her hips and would have been rather reluctant to give _that_ sight up. The sway seemed to be a rhythm which her entire body followed; even her hair followed it lightly, the curled tips of it resting at her knees swaying one way, then the other in the same beat as her hips.

They were almost to the stairs when a familiar short figure came running up to meet them. It was Marci, the short-haired twin that resided within the walls of the manor. She stopped dead in the middle of the hallway and bowed, casting her oddly-colored eyes to Twila as the elder slowed to a stop. Touqel slowed with his mistress, taking a seat next to her and lowering his head in a small bow of his own in reply to the younger's.

"Big Sister, Brother Zefitsuroi is in the main foyer. He requests an audience with you regarding recent events." Marci relayed, rising to a standing position and reaching forward to pet the top of the Grim's head. "He says he has information in regards to the whereabouts of the one who escaped."

Touqel's ears rose in a perk as he pushed against the girl's hand lovingly, a twitch given in the right corner of Twila's mouth. That was probably all the smiling she chose to give at that moment. "Very well. Tell him dhat I will be down shortly."

The little Romanian girl bowed again (mostly to the immense dog, who bowed back) before turning about and running down the stairs. Her voice carried up, though it was not directed to the group on the floor she had just left. "Maci! Tell him she'll be right down!"

There was a muffled call from down below somewhere, Twila beginning her trek again. Her face was turned to the Grim next to her, biding him to follow her down. However, there were no words exchanged with the devil hunter behind her.

Needless to say, Dante did not like being disregarded as such. He kept his startlingly blue gaze on Touqel, waiting for him to fall out of step. It was not until they reached the staircase that she stopped to allow her companion to lead downstairs.

Though Touqel made it down the stairs, his mistress did not make it passed the top step. The contact was not much, but it was enough it prohibited her from moving apparently. Dante now stood next to her, leaning his right arm on her left shoulder, holding her where she stood. She had not even changed poses, still standing with her right foot barely suspended over the edge of the stair she was on, her right hand on the fine wood railing.

His head tilted just slightly, right cheek almost resting on the top of her cranium. "You know, I don't like being ignored." he began, keeping his voice low in volume in the case that there were ears other than their own in the general vicinity. "We do still need to discuss payment for my services here."

A low growl left her, no words coming from her at first. Was that a threat? Whether it was or not didn't matter to him. He held his ground at her side, if anything moving his arm a little closer to her neck.

It was then she spoke, her own tone low and indeed very threatening. "Remove your arm or I will do so for you."

He replied with a short whistle and a small laugh. His face was soon split into that cocky grin of his, his head moving again so that his mouth was right next to her left ear. "I would love to see you try and make me." he dared, grin widening just slightly at it. If this did not piss her off any more than she was now, nothing would.

Well, it certainly had pissed her off further and God only knew now how thankful he was for his reflexes in that one moment. There were no twitches in the muscles of her body that preceded the movement of anything; she just moved, a flurry of raven locks and red skirts, the soles of her well-worn shoes balanced precariously and perfectly upon the very edge of the step she was on. Her left arm shifted upward to move his arm from her shoulder, her right hand moving in an attempt to grip it at the joint of his shoulder. Her lips parted but barely, though the roar that graced the air was anything but small, loud enough to have a residual growl follow it.

As she moved, he uttered a small grunt of surprise and pulled his arm from her reach, taking a step back with his right leg. The move turned his body to the side, thus making it more difficult for her to grasp the offending arm. Though she did try to go for his left arm after he shifted, he bent his right knee so that it touched the floor, his hands moving quickly. The light in the hall glinted off the fine silver metal and the black carbon of both his favored pistols, the barrels lifted and aimed. The gaping maw of Ivory found the crevice between the other's breasts, Ebony finding its way between her jaws.

"Make another move, you can say goodnight." he warned, though a smirk still remained plastered across his handsome visage.

She growled, the feeling of the noise generating a small vibration down the barrel, through the stock, and into the hand holding it. An eyebrow lifted on his face, his gaze shifting to the gun.

"If you can do that, we'll have to test this out in other ways, won't we?" He was pushing his limits and he knew it. The temperature in the immediate vicinity around the two suddenly dropped, accompanied by a sudden depletion in light. If he had to guess, he would say she was now more than just a little pissed.

He caught the glint of what little light there was left off the claw-like fingernails of her right hand as it moved and struck toward his head. Unfortunately for her, his trigger finger was faster. There was a click, a loud **bam!**, and then a thud. Amazingly, there was not much blood splatter. If there was, it was now all over the already red carpeting of the hallway.

A sigh left him as he rose and, after a quick inspection of Ebony for any marks in the surface, he reholstered the twin guns. When they had been locked back into place, he set his gaze now upon the headless corpse lying in the middle of the floor. "What a waste..." he muttered to himself, stepping over her to walk down the stairs. However, he kept his eye on her; he just couldn't shake the feeling that she would really throw herself away like that, that there was something more to her than just her odd (though quite fitting) vampiric appearance.

His hand was barely lifting off the top post for the banister when it was slammed back into the wood rather painfully by something. His teeth grit as he held it in when his fingers were ground into, his eyes cast now to whatever it was that held him. He knew it; Twila's left foot had struck out, the heel of her boot catching and holding his hand in place. She was pushing herself up into a sitting position, her head grotesquely reforming itself slowly, but surely. At that particular moment, it was resetting the muscles and the like to her skull. His attention, however, was directed to the structure of her teeth as they reset. He had to admit, that kind of scared him a tad. Mostly the sheer size of the things. Those could cause some pretty awful scars if she decided to use them for some reason, considering the uneven light patterns along the edges of each and every one of those triangular daggers.

Thankfully, her skin came relatively fast for being added in layers, her lips covering the mouthful of shark's teeth effectively. Even color that had been put there manually returned; her lips regained the brilliant red they were painted with, her upper eyelids with the extremely pale purple that accented them so well. The eyeballs popped (_audibly_ popped) back into existence behind them, filling out the light curve that was natural for the upper eyelids. Her raven locks were the final piece to come in, the strands growing as one.

Dante took that point in time where she just sat there letting her hair grow to yank his hand free from under the heel of her shoe, rubbing the back where the sole had made contact. By now, it was only a sting. Slowly, he made his way down the stairs, keeping an eye on her the whole way down. Right before he left that stairwell, her eyes flew open, taking in the sight of him retreating. Or at least that was how she took it. He called it giving her space so that in the case of an attack from her, he could make certain that he had time to deal out a counter-attack.

She moved fast, though. He blinked as he left the stairs and ended up looking in her narrowed glaring eyes when he opened his own. "Good morning, Sunshine." he greeted, that same annoying smirk crossing his face. His retreat had been stopped by the wall on the far side of the hall, her frame stopping dead in front of him with only a foot between them.

Her eyes narrowed still further, deepening the glare. Her right hand moved up to grab the left side of his coat's collar, yanking him down to meet her eye to eye. Three words spilled from her, dripping with pure unadulterated disgust so thick, one could cut it with a knife. "I hate you."

The smirk widened a little into a small grin. "If you think you hate me now, you're about to loathe me." he replied.

She had opened her mouth to retort, but nothing of such nature ever left her lips at that moment. His right hand lifted to wrap the fingers about her pointed chin to hold her head, his left one held at his side as if to show her it was not doing anything it shouldn't. The next move was fast, every muscle in his upper body seeming to fire at once until his lips had come into contact with hers.

She wanted to struggle, wanted to pull back from him but there was something that prevented her from even moving a finger, much less her entire body. Every muscle in her body worked at it but she only managed to pull the slender fingers of her right hand into a fist. The nails drove into her palm, causing a small spill of blood to rush forth, the brilliant red seeming to stain the white skin of her hand. It appeared as though she was trying to pull herself back into moving of her own will by causing physical pain.

Had he been able to, Dante would have grinned quite broadly at the sight of her so ... flustered. Slowly, cautiously, he pulled his hand from her chin, giving her room now to move if she wanted to. A muscle in her left thigh twitched, but the leg refused to move, her balled and bleeding hand shaking violently now. It was quite apparent that she wanted his head, but something was keeping her from doing anything at all.

After what felt an eternity, he pulled away gingerly, a final breath leaving him and washing over her. The warm air seemed to have little fingers of its own, falling over her and touching every bit of skin it could reach (which was not much). Her entire body quaked and she was regaining her control over her body again when a massive shadow was cast over the two of them. There was a smear of black on the air and Dante was slammed against the wall he stood against, held to it.

The sheer force of the blow caused Twila to stumble back, caught by someone very much larger than she was. She recognized her rescuer immediately; the gunshot earlier had reached the cat ears of Zefitsuroi, he who had come to call.

His dual-colored eyes seemed to blaze from behind the pair of sunglasses upon his face. If one had to guess, they could say he was an unhappy ... thing. And what a thing he was.

He was immense, rising to a whopping six feet and ten inches. In comparison to his monstrous height, his build was thin and lithe, though toned. His flesh was a rich chocolate brown in color, contrasting amazingly against his ebon black hair. The mop of it fell to his waist in length, held back and out of the way of his face by a leather hair tie. Upon his face was perched a pair of clip-on sunglasses set upon the bridge of his nose, the lenses darkly tinted. They did hardly anything to obscure the monstrous man's gaze, his left eye colored peridot green while his right was a topaz blue. A pair of black cat's ears poked through the ebon black locks of hair, both of them lying flat to his skull while the fur stood out. From the base of his spine sprouted a black cat's tail, the entire appendage swinging around in agitation. His entire body was clad in a fine black suit, a pair of pressed slacks covering his long legs. The bottom hems of the pant legs covered the heels and back half of a pair of well-shined black shoes with square toes. His upper body was clad in a white dress shirt and a black jacket, both with the fronts hanging open, showing a toned body beneath. About his throat was a faded fraying maroon cat's collar, a rust-eaten bell dangling from the D-ring alongside a circle-shaped tag with small rust spots spreading over the chipping chrome plating. Under the collar was wrapped a fine silver chain, which held a charm in the shape of a swastika at about the middle of his chest.

His teeth were bared, his deep thunderous voice carrying on it a low feline-like growl. A few moments passed before he finally spoke, the growl still evident in his voice, though his words were laced with a heavy German accent.

"Ze next time I see you even _brushing_ by her, I vill put you in your grave so fast, you vill still zink you valk zis earth..."

The monstrous man's hand (which had collided with Dante's forehead when he pushed him back) left its target, who slid down the wall to the floor of the hall, the sheer force of the blow having knocked the wind out of him so heavily, it was still trying to catch up. After watching him fall, Zefit nodded his head sharply, continuing on his way down the stairs behind them with Twila set carefully near him.

"Zat vas very out of character for you, Tvila." he said when they were a floor beneath. "Normally you rip ze faces of off anyvone who even dares to try such a zing. I figured he had you enchanted in some vay, so I stepped in."

A shudder flew through her body as she stopped in the hall before the stairs to the next floor down, looking at the palm of the hand she had punctured. The wounds were healing but the blood remained, starting to dry in dark red rivulets across her pristine skin. Zefit was two stairs further down the next staircase, turning about to look at her, his eyes set to her face as he awaited her reply. However, he caught sight of the bloodied hand and took it up, pulling free a handkerchief to wipe it clean.

"I ... I do not know what happened. I wanted to, Zef. I so very wanted to raise my hand and shred dhat cheek of his with dhese nails, to watch him bleed as he pulled from me. But for some reason, I could not." she hissed through her teeth then. "When we get to your Tower, I would like to enlist dhe help of your wife, if it is no problem."

Zefit shook his head. "Nein. Zere ist no problem vith your acquiring Sasha to help keep certain ... deviants in line." There was a muffled cough above them, causing both to look up. A devilish grin crossed the Catman's handsome visage. "It sounds like ze deviant ist breazing again. Zat ist gute, I suppose."

An eyebrow lifted on the other's face, rising in a graceful arch as a thin black line against her marble white flesh. "You used your Breathstealer on him, did you not?"

Zefit chuckled some before turning about and continuing downstairs. A finger pointed up toward the ceiling above him. "Right on ze button, mein Fraulein."

Twila descended the stairs after him, scoffing. "Naughty kwashka, you." she scolded playfully. She was halfway down that flight when she heard Dante shuffling to his feet and then proceeding to move down the stairs, painted lips curling up in an almost sadistic smirk. "It sounds like someone is finally awake."

"Avake? Nein. He ist just living, ist all." A low rolling chuckle arose from the German then. He seemed to be enjoying himself.

The same eyebrow on her face lifted again in time to feel a slight vibration through the floor. She stopped again, turning her head in time to see a flutter of red out of the corner of her eye. A smirk crossed her face.

"Good morning, Sunshine." she greeted, using the same words he had used no longer than about ten minutes ago.

Her reply was a glare from those chilling blue eyes as Dante fell back into step with her and Zefit.

"So now zat ve are all present und accounted for, shall ve move directly to mein Tover? Or shall ve remain here in vone of ze sitting rooms, ja?" Zefit asked then.

For the first time since they had met, Dante was completely silent to begin with. Obviously, he was a little more than peeved about Zefit coming in and defending his friend. The decision rested on Twila, it seemed.

There was no thought needed for the answer to come, the words spilling from those red lips almost instantly. "I would like to go to Dhe Tower to speak of what you have learned. Dhat way, he..." she pointed to Dante. "...Can get a last bit of fun in, rest for dhe night, and be ready. I have a funny feeling I know where Papa has gone, but I want to hear it from your mouth in order to confirm my own suspicions."

"I could confirm zem here. You are avare of zat, ja?"

"Not here. Dhe house would radher not hear such words."

Twila caught Dante putting a hand in the air, his mouth opening as if to retort to her statement of the house not wanting to hear things, then snapped his mouth shut and put his hand down. After all, had it not been the night before he had been lured by the beastly structure's eerie crying? A small twitch of the right corner of her mouth was given, though it was brief, the light frown once more placed upon her face.

At her reply, however, Zefit nodded. "Agreement. It ist probably horribly confused as it ist. I vish not to harm its delicate psyche any furzer." He turned his body a bit to see how the two behind him were getting along. He damn near stopped dead on the last stair before the ground floor, but he only slowed for a second, his brow furrowing.

Walking down the stairs, side by side in perfect step with one another, the Catman could not help but notice that Twila was walking a little closer to the figure in red. It seemed neither of them noticed this, but kept walking, Twila obviously in the lead now that they were in the labyrinth of the first floor.

Zefit hung back, keeping his dual-colored gaze upon the two in front. Who was moving so subtly? His eyes moved slowly from the backs of their heads to their feet. Watching them from their heads would not prove anything; there was nothing anywhere on the walls ahead that he could measure positioning by. However, the floor could; the deep sapphire blue and silver marble tiles on the floor were perfectly aligned and thus he could tell who was moving where.

Through long and short, narrow and wide corridors they went, around twists and turns. Amazingly, Dante kept to one particular line of tile on the floor, never leaving the boundaries on either side of the marble squares beneath him. Twila, on the other hand...

Indeed, the move was incredibly subtle, but she was still the one who kept moving steadily closer. Whatever had happened on that floor between them before Zefit had arrived must have been stronger than the German originally thought.

There would be much foiling in the air. After all, he acted like an older brother to her; he had every right by the elder siblings' unspoken code to chase away his little sister's 'boyfriend'...

She had just passed the thin crack from her line of tile into the next one when they arrived at their destination. A door made of mahogany rose before them in the same shape as the front doors. There was the woman on the front doors carved into this one, descending down a series of steps. There was a serene look on the woman's face, her arms crossed at her chest, her hands wrapped around the opposing upper arms, her body covered in the same chains.

Twila turned her bloody gaze to Zefit then, smacking Dante's hand as he reached forward in an attempt to touch the door. Just like a curious child...

"You. Go dhrough here and wait for us at dhe portal. I have to make it so dhat dhe seal around dhe door will not kill him." she said.

Zefit, though reluctant, nodded and moved toward the door. There was a single glance given to the half-demon in their company, a look that said _Dare to touch her, your arm will be mine._ He was unsure if the message got across but he hoped it did before he disappeared behind the door.

Indeed, the message did get across, but the reply was not necessarily what the German would have expected. As soon as the door was closed, Dante pffted. "What was _that_ all about?"

"What was what all about?" Twila asked before turning her body to him and holding her left hand out, palm facing up. "Arm, please."

"The look he just gave me." He cast his gaze to the outstretched hand. "And how do I know you won't rip it off?"

The first question was disregarded for the moment, her bottomless bloody depths cast up in a mild glare of their own into his blue. "I am not going to rip it off. I am not a barbarian, as you seem to dhink I am. I need your arm if you are to go dhrough dhat door at any point in time. You understand, da?"

"You didn't answer my first question..."

"It was not relevant. Now give me your arm."

"Not until you answer my question."

"Are you going to be dhis difficult for dhe entire assignment?"

"Yes. Now answer me."

"Not until I get your arm."

"And I won't give it until I have my answer."

A low growl was given from her. "Fine dhen. If you will not give me your arm, I will take it by force."

Her lithe dainty form lifted off the ground, colliding with his. For such a small thing, she certainly was able to take him down quickly enough. A scuffle ensued shortly after he hit the ground. She had been on top, trying to snag his arm from him. He kept both off them as out of reach as possible, only bringing one close to her when she looked close to the bare skin right below his wrist. At some points, he would roll so that she was on the bottom, giving him better leverage with which to pin her down and keep those teeth and claws of hers from puncturing skin.

Ten minutes passed before they started loosing their breath; needless to say, the amount of force exerted between the two to turn the other was taking a lot out of both parties. However, in the end, he triumphed, only winning by practically sitting on top of her lower body, his left hand wrapped firmly about her wrists while his right hand had successfully gripped the back of her head and held her at bay.

There was a short moment where both caught their breath again before he had a chance to gloat. It was not much in the way of gloating, but the glint in her red eyes said it all; she was unhappy about being the one who lost.

"Ha. I win." The smirk returned to his face. "So now you tell me what that look your cat friend gave me means and I'll give you my arm for whatever it is you have to do."

She struggled against him, trying to free herself, but could not seem to find a weak point anywhere in the way she seemed to be restrained. "I do not know. I saw no look from him; he was partially behind dhe door with his face turned to you and away from me."

He tsked at her. "Excuses, excuses. Come now; I know you saw him give me that look."

"I did not. But if he gave you a look, you probably already know what it means."

"Maybe, but I think you did."

"Did not."

"Did."

"...Dhis is going nowhere." She struggled a little again, one corner of her mouth turning up in a slight sneer as she moved. She debated on whether or not to break a few of her bones or to dislocate a few joints, but then she would have more questions to answer and that was definitely something she was not wanting to do; after all, she would eventually have to explain her whole head reforming trick. Magic? No. This one was a no-nonsense kind of guy in certain senses. At any rate, he would not take magic for a legitimate answer.

"You're right. It's going nowhere, but that's because you won't talk." There was a taunting sort of tone to his voice. "But no worries. I have ... ways of making you talk."

There was all of one response from her; an eyebrow lifted in half question half skepticism, as if to say _Really? Yeah, right_. She knew he would, knew what the 'trick' was, but refused to say much of anything. After all, this was going to work in her favor.

His 'method' never got that far; he shifted just wrong in leaning forward, loosening his grip on her wrists. Pfft. That was no fun, but it worked for her. Her right hand curled in on the sides and slid effortlessly from his grip, causing him to give a small gasp of surprise when she moved the hand up his arm. The nail of her middle finger penetrated the skin of his lower arm, pulling free a bit of blood so that it stained the very tip of the claw deep red. It was placed in her mouth before he really had a chance to catch his balance, pulled free shortly afterwards. Through her partially closed lips was seen a sheen of red light, casting a little of her inner lips a brighter shade of red than the rest of them if but briefly.

The freed right hand was placed on his left shoulder, pushing up to throw his fall off course. No way in Hell was she going to give him the pleasure of even coming near her again in such a way as earlier that morning, even if it was an accident. During the flip, she managed to move him so that she could move her right leg. Up it went, the knee to his stomach. It was not a hard blow, more of a spot for better leverage. A good push was given, her left hand released from his grip and pulling free the hand at the back of her head. The maneuver took all of fifteen seconds to perform.

Once she had him off her completely, she rolled to her feet, walked over to him, pulled the sword from his back, and stuck the bottom flare of his coat with the blade between two tiles. From there, she turned about and moved on her way toward the door.

"Hey!" he exclaimed, rolling over as best he could to wrap his hand around the pommel of the sword holding him to the floor. "Do you have any idea how much it costs to get this thing mended?"

"It will teach you not to try and take advantage of me." she grumbled back before moving through the door.

It did not take him too horribly long to remove the blade from his coat, inspecting the end of the blade. Nothing to completely defect the blade thankfully; if anything, the marble sharpened it. He returned the blade to his back before inspecting his coat, checking to see if there was any damage in the fine red leather. Barely a dent, but it might be good after all of this was over to get it looked at; a small blemish in the fabric could turn to a hole, after all.

God, what a morning. The best part of it ... well, he did steal a kiss. That was good enough. He strode forward, grasped the hidden ring at the left side of the door, pulled it open, and moved through the threshold. The door behind him shut, but the way was still lit. The background on the door was a mirror image of the hall behind it. The ceilings were still vaulted, the short corridor beyond the door and the staircase beyond that made of the same black stones that the house was made of. Every fifteen feet, a stone at the level of the floor cast a faint green light.

He had gotten through the corridor and was standing on the bottom step when he stopped. There was something in the hall with him, of that he was sure. He waited a few moments before turning around with a whirl. Above the flutter of his coat, he could hear it. Faintly, there were whispers and someone sobbing. He stood a few seconds longer until the air grew deathly chill and he could see his breath leave him in a thick white cloud. A chill began its way up his back and then a slimy feeling crawled up his right arm.

With a final huff of annoyance at whatever was following him, Dante turned about and made his way up the stairs. They went straight up for some way and then took an odd turn to the right, then the left. Behind him, he could still hear those restless spirits trying to follow him. They seemed to be getting incredibly lost, thus proving the effectiveness of the twisting staircase, though he did sort of worry about any one of them moving through the walls and meeting him up ahead. After all, weren't ghosts and the like insubstantial and able to move through solid objects like ... say ... walls? He had not run into a single one of the things yet and began looking around.

When he spotted what kept them at bay, he about smacked himself for not seeing something so incredibly obvious; right at eye level on both sides of the stairway were large silver ankhs about the size of his head and shoulders. They rested above wherever there happened to be a stone emitting light. Amazingly, they blended in well with their surroundings.

As he passed them, he could not help but notice that upon each ankh in the wall, there was a series of writing. He tuned in again to the spirits below, yet only heard their frustrated cries echoing faintly from below. They were stuck... At seeing that he was indeed safe for the moment, he stopped before one of the symbols in the wall, looking hard to try and read the inscription on them. Something deep in his subconscious seemed to scream at him to read it out loud, so he did:

"_Whosoever, be it beast or man, _

_That wishes harm upon this clan _

_Be lost in maze and ways unending _

_Then in time and space unbending_."

He sighed then. "'Eesh. Verse..."

However, it did have a pretty good effect; the ankh that had been read from glowed a pale blue, then set itself to deep red/black, shooting a beam of light the same color to the ankhs to both sides of it, then to the one directly across the hall from it. From the one opposite it, it shot a beam to either of its sides and so on and so forth from the other ankhs it hit.

The resounding sound of shrieks and screams rose from below the demon hunter and he determined it was a barrier, keeping the spirits below from moving up. However, it didn't seem to have any effect on him; the light went right through him and he neither burned nor hurt in any way.

Seeing as how he was now unhindered from anything besides the two who were probably impatiently waiting for him at the top, he turned about and moved up the quirky stairwell. Indeed, Twila and Zefit were awaiting him at the top.

He stepped from the stairs in time to see the barrier drop, Twila lifting an eyebrow as the beams in the staircase disappeared. "You ran into dhose, did you?" The tone of her voice was almost incredulous, as though she were surprised he had not opened fire at all on the ghosts and the like down below.

Dante nodded. "Yeah. But it was a pretty interesting set-up you have there. I never would have guessed it was poetry corner."

She glared lightly at him. "Statistics prove dhat barrier spells dhat rhyme are more prone to protecting you dhan ones dhat do not."

"And this is because..." He rolled a hand at her to get her to continue.

"Dhey are easier to remember dhan ones dhat do not rhyme." she replied simply.

"Well ... true. I still have your little incantation stuck in my head..." he muttered, casting his attention briefly to the massively tall dark figure nearby.

Zefit remained completely silent, standing near the back of the room with straight back and crossed arms, his eyes shining in the green light in that bizarre demoniacal way cat's eyes shone in the dark. His ears were perked forward now, the right one twitching around as though a radar dish. Once he heard that the discussion was done, he looked to Twila.

"Mein Fraulein. Perhaps ve should be on our vay, zen, ja?"

She nodded, snapping the fingers of her left hand. The room brightened considerably, the green slowly giving way to white. The chamber they now stood in was monstrous, bigger than the entry hall. Dante looked up and around briefly and could not see the ceiling at all, even with the brighter lights. Rising from the black stone floor to his right was a pedestal, upon it resting a metal circular device with a slit down the center of it. A wall backed it and on the wall was carved that same woman as on the important doors in the household, her clawed hands reaching down toward the circle on the floor, her body still wrapped in chains. He recognized her now. Hell, he knew her; she was walking toward where the massive Catman was. On his left ... well, that dropped off into oblivion; there were no walls on that side, nothing to catch his interest at all. It did not take him long to realize they were standing on a small outcropping in this giant chamber. Across the chasm from the end of their platform toward the back of the room was a series of equally massive clockworks, hanging it seemed from the ceiling. Gears and springs moved and shifted, a pendulum swinging back and forth ... back and forth, ticking as it went. God, it would suck to be trapped in here for eternity, what with the deafening clicks and ticks coming from the immense mechanics of the place.

Once he was done with the observation of the room they were in, he walked forward to join the other two, standing a little too close to Twila for Zefit's comfort. Even though he was not looking at the German, Dante could feel the glare that was shot from the Catman's dual-colored eyes. It felt as if the air itself was pushing down on him and making it hard to breathe, the hateful look from the other male in the room was so strongly expressed. And so, the half-demon had no choice but to move away from her. Though it was not very far, he no longer felt the glare on his back so he took the distance he stopped at as tolerable.

Twila broke the silence between the three by establishing a transporting order. "Zefit, you will go dhrough first. Dhat way, dhe portal will be able to locate you immediately and send us dhrough to you when we follow."

Zefit gave a graceful sweeping bow before walking to the edge of the platform and simply ... walking off of it. As he fell from sight, Dante walked forward to see where it was he was going. The entire floor (or lack thereof) below the outcrop was covered as far as the eye could see with a writhing iridescent black gooey mess. The figure of Zefit hit the surface of the stuff and -- with a loud **fzzt!** noise -- disappeared into the mass.

Twila looked to her remaining companion. "I am taking a guess but you have not used dhese sorts of portals, have you?"

Dante looked up, casting those haunting blue eyes into her swirling red ones. "Nope. Am I going to get an instruction booklet for it?"

"Not necessarily a booklet, but instructions, da."

"Sarcasm, m'dear..."

The spoken line was completely disregarded. "When you jump into dhe portal, dhink of Zefit. Never stop dhinking of Zefit; dhose dhoughts will guide you. No matter dhe creatures dhat come to you from dhe darkness of dhose walls, you must never release even one dhought of Zefit until you are safely on dhe odher side."

"And what of said creatures? Can they do me harm?"

"Niet. Dhey are of a different dimension dhan you are, dherefore, you can see dhem, dhey can see you, but you cannot touch dhem and ... well, I would dhink you get dhe point."

"I would hope so."

"Good. Because I go next, dhen you follow. Da?"

He nodded. "Da..."

He had barely gotten that out when she leapt from the platform. The sight of her falling made him bite his bottom lip. Not hard, but he was. Her hair flew up and away from her, revealing her slender throat and shoulders more. When her body tilted so that she was falling on her back, the displaced air rushing by her rustled the fabrics of her shirt away from her, showing off just a little more skin than she wanted to; the white sheen of her flesh from collarbone to the tops of her breasts seemed to taunt him from afar. Her skirts flew up and pulled against her, outlining still more of her frame, bringing those hidden curves to shimmer against the pulling red of the fabric. The way she fell, it made her perfect to him in every physical aspect. But the question remained in his mind; why was she suddenly so appealing to him now? Had she not threatened him and told him she hated him with every ounce of true emotion she could muster?

The instant she hit the portal's wriggling surface, he could have sworn, somewhere in the divine court of whatever god was watching, someone hit a slow button. The black mass seemed to eat away at her slowly, her raven locks falling and disappearing instantly, along with her skirts. In fact, as she went, she looked as though she were being swallowed by black water. Or a liquid of some sort, one that never stained the fabrics or skin that touched it.

The last thing to be swallowed by the blackness below was her left eye, the same one that was set glaring on him right after he had watched the soul of Ivan take his leave of the house. It was still swirling and still that brilliant red. Right before the gooey shadow swallowed it, it closed. And he leapt from the platform in pursuit of it.

It was something he was very reluctant to see fall away.


	5. Fall of The Tower

**A/N**: Pardon the long wait for this installment; the forum this was being posted on erased everything without giving warning, so we had to completely rewrite it from scratch. Also, Mai has been accepted into college! Yay! However, this will put a damper in the updates of installments; her homework will undoubtedly take precedence over writing in detailing/editing the installments. Pardon the inconvenience.

-Dezmond-

**Chapter 4**

It was a moment longer before Dante finally pushed the image of her from his mind, though he still remained watching the spot where she had disappeared into the gloom. He found it harder still to keep her out of his mind. Something about the way her face looked right before she fell into the mess. She looked so … serene. Like she had no cares whatsoever in the world where it was quite obvious through recent past events that she had a lot to care about.

Even as he thought that he had locked all thoughts of her away while he leapt off the platform, thoughts of Zefitsuroi refused to surface. Instead, all locks and chains he had placed around that little vault he had shoved all those Twila-related thoughts into snapped and he soon found himself lost to thoughts of her sooner than expected. Wispy raven locks tickled the corners of his mind, followed closely by the additions of red eyes and full lips, and a succulent figure covered in silken white flesh that could be felt through the thickest of fabrics.

The inky black of the portal between Towers made its distinct **fzzt!** sound, but it did not register to the devil hunter. The strange and creepy little creatures that lurked in the portal's many folds of darkness went unnoticed, even if they made an unsuccessful attempt on his well-being. The screams and cackles around him were unheard when…

The darkness suddenly ripped in front of him, letting a shred of brilliant white light pierce the world of the portal. It made him flinch lightly against its glare before it grew wider and wider, eventually wide enough that he was able to fall through it. He caught a wisp of raven black, the light gleaming in those trademark dark blue highlights laced with subtle dark purple and green undertones. So lovely. So … hypnotic.

Once more, his mind wandered far enough away from him that he didn't land at all, instead falling flat on his front as soon as he passed through the tear. The initial shock of the cold hard wood floor under him snapped him awake, the half-demon rolling the instant he hit to his feet. Boots clacked lightly on the wooden floor under him as he came to stand fluidly upright, casting his shimmering mercurial eyes about in a mixture of mild confusion and curiosity.

The room they had arrived in looked like a sort of office, though definitely in better condition than Dante's office and abode was. The walls were a traditional white, stretching what appeared to be an even forty feet around them in a perfect square. Up near the ceiling, gold Asian dragons played among silver clouds all around the perimeter of the room. It seemed dragons were a big part of the décor; the cherry wood baseboards had been carved into the same pattern as those at the top of the walls. Dark-wooded square pillars about six-by-six inches sat in the corners of the chamber, embossed with silver phoenixes. The ceiling was plated in gold tiles depicting silver dragons and phoenixes curling around a Zen coin. They went about thirty-four feet into toward the center of the ceiling on all sides, a six-by-six foot square made with Mother-of-Pearl featuring a platinum-molded dragon and Phoenix encircling a silver full moon between them. From here hung an elaborate chandelier, thirteen branches of bronze splitting from a central trunk, Japanese rice lantern-styled lights hung from the ends of the branches. A twelve-by-six foot rectangle area rug sat at the back of the oak wood floor, colored platinum white. It sat under a desk that Dante wished he could see in his own office; the thing rose to four feet from floor to the top, a ten-by-four foot monstrous piece of work made of lacquered ebony wood. It was trimmed with gold leaf done in an old Victorian filigree style, the top of it carved into a shallow basin that held a scene done in semi-precious stones of a group of geishas entertaining some sort of important male figures, probably shoguns or something like that. The scene was kept safe from prying hands by a sheet of glass. Sitting atop the desk were three framed pictures – the first held a picture of Zefit, a woman that Dante had never seen before, and a little girl with a cat's ears and tail (most likely Zefit's daughter), the second held a picture of the woman in question, and the third a photo of the little girl --, a cream-colored vintage phone, a black ceramic cup filled with writing utensils and random office supplies, and a relatively short stack of papers. The chair that sat behind it was also made of ebony with gold filigree trim, its back turned to the rest of the room. Though little was seen of the front, parts of the upholstery were caught; emerald green velvet cushions adorned the seat and the back, held to the lacquered wood frame by bronze nails. A further inspection of the room revealed the wall opposite the front of the desk to hold a pair of dual maple doors with copper-colored filigree latches for knobs. Obviously, these were the entrance and exit to the rest of the club. Three chairs made of cherry wood sat against the wall at the right of the doors, upholstered in dark red velvet set with bronze nails. On the left of the doors, a set of three oak chairs was set. There were no cushions on those three. On the left wall upon entering the room, a pair of dark silvery filing cabinets rose. Between the two of the cabinets sat a six foot long wooden table made of oak, centered upon which sat a devil's ivy (_How ironic,_ the hunter thought to himself) and a couple stacks of magazines. Immaculately stacked. To the point that the edges of every page seemed to be trimmed so each issue was lined up perfectly. Kind of scary, really… Resting on the wall above the filing cabinets was a maple wood shelf with beveled edges. A pair of plants sat on the shelf, the one on the right a large red-spotted green-leafed coleus plant, the one on the left waxy green Wandering Jew ivy. Both were of considerable maturity, having grown quite lengthy tendrils. The opposing wall displayed several framed pictures of the building, one outside and apparently its twin inside as well. Dante's brow furrowed lightly as he examined the picture of the outside, a neon sign set above the front doors; _The Tower _in big cursive letters, followed by smaller font below that saying _Bar and Hotel_. So that was what this place was called, was it? By the pictures, it was not a bad-looking establishment. The blueprints of the club were displayed around the concept pictures, showing everything from electric plans, plumbing, structure, and so on. However, it was not the finely crafted décor that caught the devil hunter's eye the most. It was a door at the back of the room, resting on the wall behind the chair that went with the desk, which managed to truly catch his attention.

It was carved in the shape of a Gothic arch, made of mahogany wood, without a knob. Carved as though by an expert hand across the front of the door was a large cat running toward the viewer down a long arched hallway, a netting of massive chains emitting from its body to float through the air behind it. Dante recognized its style as the one on the door to the mechanics in Rising Sun. Probably lead to the mechanics of this particular abode. It appeared that he had stumbled upon some underground organization.

The hunter was pulled away from his musings by his Russian 'companion's' voice. "I told you he would follow me."

A noise of agreement was expelled from the German man. "So zat ist vhy I vas sent zrough first; you could follow me und he, you?"

Dante's head turned to see Twila's head nod. "Da…"

Her voice trailed, however, when another voice echoed in the room. "Da. So I see you are back, Zefitsuroi…"

It was obviously a woman and another Russian, as heard through her accent. It was just slightly heavier than Twila's, but still light enough the speaker could be understood. Zefit was not the only one startled by the sound of the new voice; Dante had directly pinpointed where the voice was coming from and slid back half a foot, instinctively pulled free Ivory, and aimed it at the back of the chair behind the desk. Such actions caused the Catman next to him to flatten his ears to his head, the tip of his tail twitching menacingly.

"Bitte. I inquire you put zat avay; it ist only mein spouse…" he grumbled lightly, ears perking forward again when the mild squeak of the chair swiveling around floated to anyone listening. The demon hunter complied easily enough as soon as he saw the side profile of the woman, Twila having appeared to not have paid any attention whatsoever to the happenings of the half-breed and her German friend.

Instead, her own Russian voice lifted. "Ah. Good evening, Sasha…" Her voice to Dante was cold and unfeeling, though the woman in the chair – Sasha – obviously saw something more to it.

She loosed a chuckle in reply, but her attention was soon directed back to Zefitsuroi. "Now dhat you are home, Zefit, I need you to track down your daughter. She is, no doubt, gallivanting about dhe populace on dhe dance floor and dhe Gods only know what kind of trouble she is getting in…"

Zef's ears laid flat to his head again, his mouth opening to retort when she glared at him. "But … but …" he stammered, looking to Twila for help. Unfortunately, all she did was shrug at him as though saying, 'Your problem, you deal with it'. "But I just got home und zere are zings zat need to be transferred over. Important zings!"

It was obvious Zefit was terrified of this woman, although it was also apparent that he did love her very much. Dante's gaze travelled from Sasha to the photo in the frame on the desk. Yeah, that was her, alright. It was hard to mistake the chin-length straight-cut chestnut brown hair and china blue eyes. Her skin was pale, though not as pale as Twila's skin. At least Sasha had skin tone. She did have a good figure, though he had to admit her chest was a bit lacking. Still there; he could see the bumps that made them. But almost flat. Or maybe that was just the illusion given by the light playing off her suit. She _was_, after all, clad in a fine white business suit, a top hat to match resting peacefully in her lap. Her hands were left ungloved, a prominent ring wrapped about her left ring finger. It featured a woman in white gold entwined with a cat carved from what appeared to be obsidian (a hard medium to master in jewelry if it was seen at all), cradling between them small stones of blue topaz and (of all things) peridot. She sat in that chair with a perfectly straight back and her angled face held high in authority. Far too obvious who wore the pants in that couple…

"I do not tolerate excuses, Zefit. From you, your daughter, or our customers." Sasha replied, her voice cold and almost threatening in a way. "Now go find Asya before she does somedhing vhe vhill all regret. Da? I can take care of relaying dhe needed information to Twila. After all, I do vhatch your club enough…"

Her eyes fell on Dante then. "Oh. And take _him_ out of here vhith you. Treat him to a drink or somedhing. He makes me uncomfortable…"

"Hey, now…" Dante had made to talk back, but his voice trailed into nothing at the collective glare of both the Russian ladies. Well, it was mostly the intensity at which Twila's hit him. Damn near took his breath from his lungs with those brilliantly swirling eyes of hers. He shot a glare back as though saying, _Just you wait. I'll get you yet…_

He remained silent after that, cursing himself inwardly when Zefit put a hand on his shoulder. Not in malice, as such an act would have been earlier that day. Instead, it felt warm. Almost … brotherly. No words passed between the Catman and the hunter, but soon both were out of the room in a small tunnel-like corridor that lead to the sounds of heavy music and flashing colored lights down the hall, away from the doors into the office.

"Before I let you go und I look for mein daughter, I figured you should know vas ist going on, as vell. After all, you two seemed joined at ze hip until zis ist over." A pause took hold of the German before he continued, appearing surprised that no words had left the half-demon next to him. "Ivan has gotten out vonce before. He stays out for vone reason und vone reason alone…"

A longer pause was held, Dante looking up to see the taller's face. By the furrow of his brow and the tense lengthy silence, there was something wrong.

"Yes? Go on…"

Zefit looked to him, dual-colored eyes meeting his mercury blue and only adding to the tension that hung heavy in the air. "He only stays because he vants her dead…"

A moment of denseness hit Dante hard. "Who does he want dead?"

A low chuckle, though strained with obvious force, was pushed out. "She sits in ze office vith mein vife. She ist un abomination to her papa. He sees her as ein scourge to ze earth. Unless you put him back in his grave, he vill not stop until she lies dead by his hand. He vill not be satisfied until she is no more. Und he knows vhere she ist now. He ist coming. I suggest ve all keep un ear out for him und ze best vay to do zat ist to listen for her…" Here, he nodded his head toward the dual doors that lead into the office. "If she cries out, you come running. Zat ist ze only rule concerning her at zis moment. Even if it is a paper cut she cries out from, I vant to see you being ze first vone zere, or at least damn close to it. Do ve haf un accord?"

Throughout the entire thing, the hunter's face had turned toward the floor to hide the fact that his eyes had widened. Once, he turned to look back at the barrier between him and the room he had just come from. This … monster he had just unleashed wanted nothing more than to see his one and only daughter lying dead in front of him. Dead for good, he would assume, seeing as how her head had reformed completely back in her abode. As acknowledgement to Zefit's final question, he nodded.

"We do…"

Zef nodded and took a step forward but not before Dante stopped him again. It seemed at that moment he was lost for words, yet they still managed to come out.

"Why would he want to do that to her? I mean … she's his daughter, isn't she? I don't know any father who would really wish that on their child…"

To hear the words like such fly from his own lips… It felt like he wasn't controlling any of it, like his words were foreign to him. After all, the subject of fathers always had been a sore point with him, his own having suddenly taken off for no apparent reason like he had. But still, not even he wanted to be hated so much he was wanted dead by his sire.

Zefit dug into one of his pockets to pull free a small object the shape and size of a coin, holding it up to look at it through the light playing in the main club. "Ze first time he got loose. He held her hostage to try und keep us all at bay. During zat time, she vas severely beaten. Ven ve finally got to her side, she vas in ein state of comatose. Evidence pointed to her head hafing been slammed into ze edges of ze countertops in his base of operations. Blood und brain smatter across ze tops of zem said enough to zat und ve greatly doubted it vas his. Her left arm und right leg vere broken above und below ze elbow und knee. Drei of her ribs vere shattered, she vas hafing problems breazing right. Most of her vertebrae vere fractured or split in twain. Her bottom jaw vas broken on vone hinge, letting it fall free, fractured along ze center…" He took a breath, pulling the coin down. The strain on the breath said he didn't want to talk about it, and yet he thought it needed to be said. "Vhich ist vhy you are going to be her escort of sorts. She ist mortified of ze man und such terror vill cause her to freeze in his presence."

There was utter silence from the half-breed next to the German. He was quietly delving into his memories for some of the nastiest jobs he had ever taken, trying to compare them with this one. Through all of the memories he pulled up, not a one he could find matched the severity of this one. Not even Mundus. Nasty though he was, even the Demon Lord Mundus could not rise to meet this. Hell, if anything, even Mundus might be afraid of Ivan… Subconsciously, his right hand went for the pendant that hung around his throat, his thumb rubbing the stone compulsively.

"I can tell by your silence you see ze urgency of zis, of putting him back vhere he belongs." Zefit said quietly, looking at him. "Just keep your ears open for her voice und you should be gute, ja." Here, he held out the hand with the coin in it. "Take it. Zis ist your ticket to free drinks und meals here. Show zis to any vaiter who comes to serve you und zey vill see you are ein guest of honor here."

The hunter held his hand out, trying to push the mental image of the perfectly healthy girl (well, if what he had seen of her so far could be considered 'healthy') in the office behind him lying in some dark room in a twisted half-dead mess. The coin was transferred, pulling him back to the present as he inspected the trinket. It was made of a substantial silvery metal, a cat molded into the front in a hard black material with the engraving of a swastika on its chest. Just like the German next to him with his cat's ears, tail, and that silver swastika charm hanging about mid-chest on him.

"Thanks…" the white-haired hunter looked up to find his massively tall companion not there. A quick scan of the area revealed the tip of his tail disappearing around the corner into the club. _Might as well get something and relax a bit before said ghostie decides to show up and ruin everything…_ he thought to himself, walking down the corridor into the club.

The place looked so much more … spectacular in color than in the black-and-white artist's rendition in the framed picture on the office wall. Dante walked over to the railing of the walkway he stood on and looked down. He was four floors up and a quick twist of his head upward and counting of the floors he could see revealed the place to be a taboo structure; it was thirteen floors exactly. Than again, given the constant image of the black cat with the swastika every which way, it was obvious this place would be the nightmare of anyone who was extremely superstitious. The construction of the place was incredible, for lack of a better word. The first floor was mostly a sunken dance floor, the squares lighting up in different patterns and colors, blinking periodically with the music. There was an upraised lounge area around the edge of the dance floor, where he caught sight of Zefitsuroi looking for his missing daughter, wherever she might have gotten to. Across each floor from the second to the thirteenth was a set of skywalks, sturdy glass walkways made of panels of thick glass set into steel framing. Someone could put all their force into kicking one of these glass panels and they would not even scratch the surface of them, they were that sturdy, definitely made for high traffic areas. These connected one side of the rectangular room to the other, neon lighting of reds and blues, whites and greens, set into the space between the frames and the panels, lighting them up. The walkways were connected in the center by a shaft containing three neon-lit glass elevators in full operation, the elevator shaft encircled by a spiral glass staircase. The entire room was laced and bordered with subtle neon colors, a few of them alternating colors every few seconds or so. Upon inspection of the opposite side of the room, he picked up signs of a sitting area with a small bar, seeing the same all the way up until about the fifth floor.

It was to the center of the skywalk to reach the central staircase Dante was headed to, wanting to see the entire place from every angle and height he could muster; Los Angeles had _nothing_ that could put this place to any sort of shame. If anything, The Tower shamed a lot of the clubs out there. He knew he wasn't on his turf any longer due to the fact that he would have undoubtedly heard of this place if it was in at least two hundred miles of his base of operations in any direction.

He reached the stairs and was heading up when he heard above the crowd, "But Papa…"

The word 'Papa' had been drug out on the final syllable, a sort of whiny tone of voice. Halfway between floors, the demon hunter stopped to look down, seeing Zefit's ears flatten to his head, his tail begin twitching menacingly as he pulled a little girl of brown hair with the same feline attributes as the German from the crowd by the collar of her shirt. A small chuckle escaped him as he watched the Catman and his child disappear beneath the solid walkways that spanned the perimeter of the room on each floor. It was also a good test; if he could hear Zefit and his daughter from way up there and above the general commotion of the music and people (and there were a lot of patrons; the place rightfully had a fair amount of business), he could most certainly hear Twila if she made any sort of noise pertaining to what he needed to listen for.

Dante was almost to the tenth floor from the stairs, taking in the sights and sounds from all angles and looking down on the floors below him with each landing he came to when he finally got his chance to confront Ivan for real. Everything had suddenly grown eerily quiet. The music had stopped, the noise in general just … ended. It was not just the half-demon's senses that stopped everything, either. It all physically stopped in reality, people no longer dancing and talking, casting their faces upward toward the fourth floor, which caused the white-haired hunter to look toward it as well. Something was definitely not right.

It was such a sudden end to everything that it felt like someone drenched a heavy blanket and had thrown it out over the room without wringing it out; the air was that heavy. And then the darkness and cold began to descend on the place, starting at the top. It seemed an eternity, but someone's voice crackled over a PA system set up in the place.

"Dhis is a class dhree emergency. All patrons are to evacuate calmly, along vhith lower staff. All managers and directors, remain to help stragglers. I repeat. Dhis is a class dhree emergency and dhis is not a drill. All patrons and lower staff are to evacuate calmly and quickly using dhe doors marked 'Exit' at dhis time. Cpyciba and sorry for dhe inconvenience."

The crackle of the mouthpiece being turned off sounded through the speakers, the heavy Russian accent betrayed the speaker as Sasha. The cold dark had swallowed the top four floors by that point. People were filtering out of the building calmly and quickly, either used to this sort of thing or keeping superb self control from freaking out all over the place and causing a mess. The last of the patrons finally left when it came. Another crackle over the system was sounded, Sasha sounding more frantic now, yet still in that unnervingly calm voice.

"Zefitsuroi! He is in dhe mechanics! He is in dhe mec…"

It ended there, the sound of the line going static over the speakers left to echo in the empty club. There was the hurried tap of Zef's polished black dress shoes from somewhere below, faint as though heard through walls or other such barriers. That foreboding feeling that followed the chill blackness descending hit Dante when he heard the sound that sent shivers flying up his spine, one he never wanted to hear again for as long as he lived. It scared the hell out of him, caused him to move up and back away from the railing temporarily.

Twila's ungodly unearthly shriek of unbridled terror.

It sounded like … a mixture between one of the rabbits he had watched be torn apart by her Stiltwalkers prior to getting caught up in this mess and a banshee. It was shortly followed by the faint rustle of fabrics, something glass breaking, and a door slamming open. Soon enough, six floors down, Twila had come flying across the skywalk toward the central shaft.

Well, she would have been six floors down had the one and only expression she had emitted practically wrenched any and every feeling Dante had poorly bottled in his mind for her out. Raw fear had graced the face of the Russian as she looked back over her shoulder, running like a bat out of Hell clumsily toward the stairs around the elevator shaft in the center of the skywalk. That expression, no matter if it was not the one he wanted to see from her, sent him flying over the side of the stairway down toward her, the tails of his coat flying as though they were crimson wings. He bounced off the railing of one of the seventh floor walkways and came to land three floors down with his precious pistols drawn and at the ready, aimed at the corridor that she had just come running from. If Ivan was in there and going to emerge, so help him God or whatever the hell he believed in, he was going to be eating a whole lot of lead.

Nothing… At least not at first. There was a shuffling sound from inside the office at the end of the hall, the right door so brazenly thrown open in escape lazily rocking on its hinges. The room beyond was quiet and dark, and yet something was still moving in the confines. A cough nearly set the already edgy Dante into a flurry of retaliation, though he managed to catch his trigger fingers before the sensitive levers were pulled. White graced the open doorway now and God only knew how happy he was that he had decided to wait. Sasha stood there, braced on the inside of the door looking exhausted.

"He is not in here. Came and dhen suddenly left again." the Romany woman told him, stumbling out onto the main causeway.

The half-demon sighed, lowering both the pistols. "Almost got yourself shot…" he told her before adding as though an after-thought, "…Again."

A small laugh was urked from her before she stopped and looked up and over Dante's left shoulder. Her eyes widened at the same time Twila was heard whimpering out the same words repeatedly.

"Niet … please … please niet…"

Alongside her words, someone else was whispering, sounding almost like cooing. A male voice speaking in a language that could only be Russian accompanied by the bittersweet symphony of her quietly sobbing next to him. It was one such combination that set Dante's blood boiling, causing him to turn around to see what exactly was going on.

Ivan had her pinned against the elevator shaft on the stairs halfway between the third and fourth floors, his left hand wrapped around her delicate throat. His blurred face was inches from her, the spirit hovering to tower a good eight inches higher than her. The look on her face was that of remembrance (probably of her past horrors with the entity) and unveiled terror. She was, as Zefit had said, deathly mortified of the remnants of her father.

There was no thought to the next move. Ivory was raised, aimed within the next five milliseconds, and the trigger pulled once. Contrary to popular belief, the ghost was solid. His right temple took the bullet, snapping his head to his left and letting the grip on Twila's throat drop. She slid down out of reach and trembling as Dante took off down the stairs to take a stand between her and her tormentor.

The impact of the bullet on his being caused the rogue soul to float backwards quite a ways before steadying himself and looking with a glare toward his adversary. This would have been the first good look at the beastly spirit Dante had; he was all shades of greys and muted blues, not very tall if he stood, and stocky in build. His face was angled, but also wrinkled in places with age, his hair a fluttering floating mop on top of his head. He had the beginnings of a beard sprouting along the line of his lower jaw, just stubble in darker tones than the rest of him. His eyes, on the other hand, were completely black without whites, as though they would tear the soul right out of anyone he looked at. There was a certain unnerving feeling about those eyes and the devil hunter glaring at him through the kept veil of his white hair knew what it was. The feeling he always felt pertaining to this spirit and all that others thought of him; malice. Hatred. Everything that meant anger in all its forms described that glare, that expression perfectly.

Ivan Telikov was the definition of 'monster'. He even made Dante's twin brother, Vergil, look like some tree-hugging hippy and that was saying a lot when pertaining to the other Sparda boy.

As soon as the ghost gained his composure back, he made an attempt to float forward, staring the hunter down with those malevolent black eyes. He was met by the welcoming barrels of the twin guns, Ebony and Ivory.

"Move so much as another inch, you slimy little bastard, I'll force-feed you so much lead, people will be mining it out your ass for years to come…"

There were no playful or cocky tones on the hunter's voice, no smirk or smile to meet the other's eye. Now, he was all about seriousness, that set glare still following the movement of the ghost.

However, the threat and the general air about the red-clad did not phase Ivan at all, who bent at his waist with a deranged laugh, looking directly down the barrel of Ivory.

"Hm. Are you positive dhese dhings can cause any damage vhatsoever?" he asked, his voice deep and rich, dripping with the heaviest Russian accent yet. "Because I am unsure how you could _possible_ use dhose little _vhater guns_ to any such effe…"

His voice cut off right there, drowned out and lost in the sound of gunfire. The barrage lasted for a couple of minutes at most before it stopped. Ivan had been flown back almost to a nearby wall, stopping and coughing. It was not long that he vomited a good lot of metal slugs. Black eyes were turned back toward Dante with more anger toward him than ever before.

"No one calls my ladies 'water guns'. Especially not some dead fucking ass like you. But above all, no one hurts my _lady_ in any way, shape, or form without answering to me first…" the half-breed growled at him.

Where had _that_ come from, he wanted to know? Sure, he was defending the fact that his guns were indeed not as they had been insulted. He always did that. But now, he was defending a girl who probably hated his guts just as much he… The thought was pushed from his mind. She hated him, he hated her, that was that, this was only a job. After all, relationships he developed on jobs always seemed to go south.

Ivan simply laughed at him and disappeared, though he was not gone from the area; the place still held that feeling of suppression. The feeling of being trapped in an extremely dark corner with no way to escape. Dante hated that feeling, but his charge was first priority. Ebony was reholstered, but Ivory was kept out as a precautionary measure against any sudden attacks from Ivan. Red-coated form was whirled about and bent to one knee before the cowering body of Twila, feeling distraught for her condition. His left now-freed hand reached up to gently cup the right side of her face in an attempt to calm her.

It worked to an extent, her own shaking right hand coming to meet his, her entire body's quaking calming just slightly. "D … Dante?"

There was something about the way his name had come out that sent shivers of the good kind flying up his spine. He managed to mask it well enough, nodding his head in reply to her. "Right here, babe…"

She melted right then. Everything she had built up around her image of being tough and hard to crack fell and crumbled away right then as she began to cry. Not normal tears, either. Blood, the tears carving brilliant red rivulets against her perfect white visage. However, whether they were blood or real, he absolutely hated to see women cry. Especially if he had his eye on them (_You do not have your eye on her! She hates you, you hate her. Capeesh?_ a voice in the fore of his mind said; he tended not to listen to it much, though. Someone had made a joke once that it was his common sense). Slowly, his thumb began stroking her cheek in a rather poor attempt at trying to get her to calm down, holding her head still by placing his forehead on hers, making her eyes look into his. He was readying to say something, _anything_…

"Alright you two lovebirds." Sasha was peering around the corner at them, looking up and around occasionally. "You…" She pointed to Dante then. "…Get her out of here. Use dhe portal in dhe mechanics. It is on dhe far right. You…" Eyes turned to Twila now, a moment of silence given for contemplation. "…On second dhought, you keep doing vhat you are doing. You have reason to…"

"Where do I go?" His snide tone was back, icy gaze falling on the other Russian.

"Somevhere familiar to you. Ivan does not know you vhell, if at all. He ate your energy, da. But dhat means nodhing to him in dhe way of information. Vherever you take her, make sure it is a place she has never been before." Unusually talkative Sasha, now giving advice where needed. Perhaps she was not a bad girl after all… Nah. She was Sasha and Sasha … well, when one knew her, they would understand. "You know how to use dhe portal, da?"

Dante nodded. "I do…"

A sharp nod from the other Russian. "Good. Use dhe same method here."

He had no time to get a reply or question out when she disappeared back upstairs and out of sight. So he had to take her somewhere she had never been before to protect her location from her bastard of a father? Alright. He knew just the place. A quick sweep of mercury blue gaze was given in all directions before Ivory was put back in its cradle, his left hand dropping to her arm. She jerked it and her head back away from him.

A series of 'sh' noises was given to her to help her settle down. As soon as he saw she was calming, he added in a soft and hopefully non-threatening tone, "I was asked to take you somewhere where you can recuperate. I promise that nothing will happen that you do not want to happen." A small smirk was given then. "Think of this as a little vacation…"

He backed away from her only to be clung to. A moment was taken for him to blink away the mild confusion before looking up and around. Ivan was … nowhere in sight. That was a good sign at least.

With no sign of the rogue soul, Twila was taken up into his arms and held close to him. She seemed to take well enough to that, if anything burying herself into his torso for comfort and that feeling of safety. Once she was situated to her and his liking, Dante cast his gaze about once more. Upon still not seeing, hearing, nor feeling Ivan anywhere in sight, a nod was given and he made his way back up the stairs and toward the office, slowing every so often to make certain the menacing ghost was nowhere in range.

The last sweep proved ineffective as he turned back toward the door in time to feel that seething gaze from the dead man on his back. For a split moment, it cased him to hesitate in going for the office, instead turning to look over his shoulder. Sure enough, coming from the other side of the main chamber was Ivan. It took a split second moment for Dante to shift Twi such that she rested on one arm, the other hand darting immediately for one of his guns. He was just reaching the stock of Ebony when Zefit showed up right where Ivan had been, swinging up from below the walkway and catching the solid ghost with a foot to his right temple, sending the dead flying in another direction. The dual-colored gaze of the Catman was set to Dante then.

"Get going! Get her out of here! I do not vant to see you in zis building in ze next five minutes! Am I clear?" He added when the demon hunter turned to go, but sent a questioning gaze back to the German, "I haf everyzing under control here!"

A nod was given from the shorter before he shifted his charge back comfortably across his arms and, with a flutter of his red coat, disappeared into the dark office toward the door of the mechanics.

A sharp nod was given from the German before he looked to Sasha on the side. "I made sure zat Asya cannot get out. You stay off ze valkvays as vell." he told her with a laugh before turning his right palm up, seeing her nod and back up into the office corridor.

A claw was brought out on Zefit's left pointer finger, his dual-colored eyes looking over the top of his sunglasses at Ivan, who had gotten his wits about him and was now bearing full bear for the German. "Gute. You know your opponent." Zef laughed again, tearing the claw along the palm of his right hand to draw blood in a substantial amount. "Too bad you are on your opponent's field…"

He crouched down, putting his right hand to the glass below him, the cut palm smashed against the walkway. "Shadow's Bane…"

No sooner had the words left his mouth then the entire structure began to shake. Ivan was all of four metres from his target when the main floor turned black. Nothing but black, rising up on all sides. Zef vaguely heard Sasha screaming his name as the barricade of shadow surrounded the main chamber, cutting through the steel frames that held everything aloft. Bolts and chunks of metal and glass came crashing from the walkways above, the blackness eventually dissipating back to itself.

There was dead silence for all of thirty seconds, though that thirty seconds felt like an eternity. The eerie quiet was broken suddenly when somewhere around the twelfth and thirteenth floors came the shriek of twisting steel, raining more bolts and debris down on the floors below, a 'psh' noise escaping from the neon tubes imbedded in the sides of the glass panels.

Zef started laughing … no. Cackling was a better way to put it, a shriek of utter wickedness that sounded above the noise created from the frames falling apart and coming crashing down on the walkways under them. He rose, his ears perked fully forward with his hands up as though conducting an orchestra.

"Feel ze wrath of mein club, you dead bastard!"

The entirety of the building felt like it was in a severe earthquake, Ivan looking up with a 'tch' of disdain before taking the time to crack the laughing Catman a good one across the bottom jaw, shutting him up instantly. "Fucking asshole…" the ghost hissed at him, watching the massive frame of the cat fly off the side of the walk and down. The deafening scream of metal and the crash of glass drew his attention upwards in time to see the final walk above him come falling on top of him.

Zef was safe; the blow to his jaw actually saved him, his hands finding the support bar under that walkway that ran halfway under the glass plate, swinging himself up and out, above the mess. In fact, he landed on top of the pile of debris, riding it down to the bottom, on the dancefloor. There was a final loud crunch, the main structure giving one last shake before the glass particles and dust cleared. That mess should keep Ivan busy for a while…

A devious grin spread across the German's face before he sent a thumb's up to Sasha, who was looking at the mess under and around her. "Zat's right, you sorry asshole. Now you know vat happens ven somevone messes vith mein baby sister. My nightclub comes to say 'Allo'…"

He knew it would not be enough to stop Ivan for good, but he'd be damned if it didn't stall him for a very long while. A nod was a given, the German spitting where he suspected Ivan to be located under, and he was off to help Sasha calm down.


	6. Safe Haven

**Disclaimer**: Because we forgot to say it in the last chapter, here it is! Sasha is actually copyright to a friend of ours; Amujr. Thank you for letting us use her in our story and we are glad you liked our take on her. Loves always, Amujr, and thank you supporters; Mai and Company.

**Chapter 5**

_The rooms and halls were all just shades of black and blue, no other color. She did not catch any of the details in any of the rooms, hearing only her muffled yet echoing footfalls as she ran, her heartbeat racing out of control in her ears and head, her breath coming in gasping spurts._

_She tripped on that bottom stair from the upstairs, feeling nothing but fear, not even paying attention to the sounds of the beast behind her. At the bottom of the stairs, she caught her balance again, looking around as she took off once more._

_The kitchen…_

"_**Niet… please niet…"**__ she heard herself spill in a panic, trying to reach the only open doorway outside this hellhole, this … prison. __**"Whatever God you are, which ever one you are. I ask you to see me safely dhrough dhat door…"**_

_A hand reached forward, the movement blurred in the strange lethargic feel everything seemed to have about it in here. The knob was almost in her grasp, her fingertips brushing the smooth round globe of it. She clearly saw her own reflection twisted and warped in the domed surface, saw that look on her face, reached for that reflection as though it would take her far away and out of this…_

_A hand grabbed her viciously from behind, causing her to give a resounding shriek of defiance and frustration. It was a strong hand, heavily calloused so it was rough as well. She knew it was rough, for as soon as she was pulled back to the hand's owner, that hand shifted its grip to grasp her lower jaw firmly, holding her head in place._

"_**Hunt's over. Now, to business."**_

"_**Niet…"**__ It was all she could say, really, forced to look dead in the black orbs that belonged to her father. Her entire body began to shake. __**"Niet…"**_

_A sneer crossed the old Russian's face. __**"Da."**_

_He turned her around, despite her constant struggling against him. She finally twisted herself in such a way that she broke his grip and almost got away from him. But he caught her right wrist, yanking hard enough that her shoulder joint cracked loudly and wetly against the strain. It hurt, enough that she cried out as she was drawn back to him._

_He used his bulk to push her to the counter as she whimpered due to the pain in her shoulder; he held her arm in such a way it was a constant stream of agony through her right arm and the right side of her chest and back, stretching part of the way into her neck and right leg, as well. Her head was laid onto the countertop sideways and even through the pain of her all-too-obviously dislocated shoulder she struggled against him. She knew what was coming and would not let him do it to her. Not without a fight._

_He still won, pushing her so hard against the unfinished sharp edge of the countertop that she heard and felt several ribs dislocate from their places in loud pops that merely added to the steady throb already there._

_The next thing she remembered was her head being lifted from the counter, then felt the force of his hand and arm pushing her head heavily into the marble. She heard that sickeningly wet crack of her head meeting the stone and then it all went black briefly._

"Twila!"

_Someone called her name. It flickered in her ears to her mind, but did not rouse her from her sleep. What did was the sudden shot of agony that flew up her left arm, accompanied by the sickening crack and grinding of broken bones. She was awake with a scream that resonated in her ears long after the sound itself had passed her lips. Everything held a tint of blue-purple now instead of straight blues as before, and her jaw hung loosely off the hinge. Broken…_

"_**Dhat is right, you seething Hellspawn…"**__ her father growled in her ear, close enough she could hear him whisper above her whimpers. __**"I vhant you to scream. Scream really pretty."**__ He hissed in her ear. __**"Scream like my precious Miska must have screamed for you. I vhant to hear vhat she gave to you. I vhant to hear it coming from your mouth…"**_

"_**Papa..."**_

_She did not get to finish, had barely begun, before his hand slammed her head again into the countertop. She was still awake after that one and she felt the pain more as it surged through her head, down her body and across every inch it had not originally taken with the other injuries dealt her earlier._

"_**I did **_**not**_** create you! You are **_**nodhing**_** to me!"**__ There was a pause. __**"You should not even **_**exist!**_** I vhant my Miska back, you … you villainous **_**beast**_**!"**_

"Twila…"

_That last calling sounded farther away. Where was it coming from? Eyes shook severely as she tried to look around, looking for the source of the voice. It was … kind. More worried than her father had ever exhibited toward her. That was a given._

_It was not Russian. It did not have a definite accent at all, really. _

_Male… _

_The voice was male, a low rumbling voice, a smooth and rich tenor._

_Calling her back. Back from this hideously nightmare-ish world…_

_But she could feel her broken arm and shattered skull and dislocated shoulder here so vividly, who was to say this was not reality and the voice the dream? At least now she acknowledged it, however…_

_There was another blow of her head on the counter. She did not feel pain any longer and if she did, it was so intense it felt euphoric. However, this was the one that caused the massive trauma to the back right of her skull. It sounded like someone cracking an egg on the marble, and the smatter of her blood and brain matter that she heard before she lost consciousness was reminiscent to the liquid whites and yolk._

_Or a bucket that had spilt over._

_Or something of that sort, maybe both._

_Either way, she was seeing the skull chunks and blood smatter and could only really think in that moment, _Egg_…_

_A final, pitiful struggle was given, and the movement caused her assailant to lose grip on her in surprise that she was still moving for but a moment before he snatched her dislocated arm again and twisted it viciously. The sudden shot of agony mingled with the hurt which was procured from her head wound and she passed out briefly._

_Her mind flickered back to reality as a boot from the man holding her down stomped heavily on one of her knees, shattering the bone from above to below the joint. His way of keeping her from running or struggling away from him… _

_She lifted her head to try to scream out (that hurt a good lot) to anyone who would listen outside those thickly-paned windows, but he managed to silence her by grinding her ribs into the edges of the unfinished marble slab topping the counters again. She coughed, hearing still more of them pop, one after another, and it hurt to breathe. It served his purpose, though; she did not utter much noise louder than a small whimper. He turned her head the other direction and slammed it against the counter._

_That final blow knocked her out cold; she did not feel anything more after that but sweet embracing darkness._

Is this what Final Rest feels like?

_She did not hear anything more but a distant whoosh noise mixed with the far-off muted sound of static through which was barely heard that mystery voice calling her name, begging her to come back…_

"Snap out of it! … Please?..."

* * *

Twila had fallen into a strange form of coma before Dante could make it to the mechanics, the hunter having run through the door in the back of the office as it clicked open automatically for him. It was kind of freaky, really, her coma; she lied there, coiled against him with her eyes wide open and unblinking, her breath barely there and ragged when she expelled it loudly.

The corridor behind the door was, as with the last door of the same make, a mirror image and made with the nice white plaster walls as the rest of the club was, a gold stripe painted on them at about waist level. There were wall sconces set at about six and a half feet above the floor at intervals along both sides of the corridor. Other than that, he did not pay much attention to the details. He was standing at a fork in the corridor, having drawn his left hand (that arm was supporting the back of the Russian he held) up to gently cradle her head against his shoulder, taking to note just the silken smoothness of the woman's hair.

And her scent. The smell of roses was intoxicating, with that slight undertone of blood. Of course, the blood was a little unnerving, but…

The hunter was drawn from his musings as the floor under him shook violently (it was about this time Zefit had summoned the shadows to his aid in the main chamber), causing him to shift his right foot further out to stabilize himself during the quake. He cast his icy mercurial gaze back behind him toward the door back to the club, debating whether or not he wanted to go back and help out a little … until a small noise that resembled a whimper escaped Twila, the first noise she had uttered in the better part of five or ten minutes.

Dante's attention returned immediately to her before remembering Sasha's directions and turning down the right corridor, running again for whatever lay at the end of that hall. He passed several other junctions, counting them in his head as he went in case he needed to go back. Finally, after what seemed an eternal loop of four-way forks in the road, he came to a set of rather elegant black marble stairs. Now he knew he was going the right way; it was hard to miss the deafening ticking that emitted from the clockwork that apparently was in both the 'Tower' locations.

He ran up the stairs, taking a brief look around the room that greeted him passed the short narrow hallway at the top … and stopped briefly. The clockwork … was on the ceiling and curled around the walls, hanging from seemingly nothing. The massive four pendulums hanging and swinging lethargically in the four corners of the room, each swing giving motion to the immense clockwork gears and springs that lied interwoven with one another, each and every one moving in sync or reaction to another. The floor platform upon which they stood was wider in space than the one in Rising Sun, but he had to admit; the immense manor's mechanics were undoubtedly more elegant…

That was all the details he felt he needed to take in, lightly shifting the Russian in his arms subconsciously before moving to the edge of the platform and looking down into that same writhing black goo that made up the portal. Would it work if two people went through with one leading? Always one way to find out… And now, he needed to make sure they did not part ways while in the portal. It would be bad if he lost her and did not know where to look for her.

She felt like deadweight. Acted like it, too. He had to stand her up in front of him, stabilizing her carefully against him while he reached down and removed the top belt from around his right thigh, grimacing lightly at her limpness and lack of any real vital signs. He knew he carried these things around for something other than decoration…

It took all of a minute to use it to bind her right wrist to his left with it, his own right hand cradling her body against him. He turned his back to the portal and was readying to just fall backward into it for the sake of coming out of the mass before she did in order to catch her upon exit … when the building shook for a second time. This quake was more severe (and rightfully so; the glass skywalks were being brought down), the hunter noticed, but he only really felt the initial one for about ten seconds before he lost his balance on the edge of the platform and fell backward, pulling Twila in after him. Blessedly, his reflexes were fast enough to tighten his arm around the Romany woman's body and hold her close and snug to him.

Right as that seething iridescent black swallowed the pair of them into itself, he let his mind wander to the one person he knew would take him where he needed to go; his agent.

_Sorry, Morrison. Looks like I'll be seeing you sooner than either of us want…_

The poor old man was actually on his way to see about the hunter's progress on this last job he took and did not know what to think, really, when there came a loud fizzling noise and a crack from the back seat of his car, accompanied by a flurry of familiar red landing across the seat where there had not been any red before. Such surprise caused him to swerve off to the side of the road while inadvertently slamming on the brakes, looking in apparent shock at the newcomer.

To Dante's relief, his binding job had worked perfectly and he landed on his back with the seemingly half-dead Twila on top of him. Of course, the heavy suede of his coat provided no traction against the seat as Morrison swerved and his head soon made a painful acquaintance with the arm rest of the back passenger side door, promptly sliding a little way forward before he caught and stabilized himself with one foot. Amid near-silent curses under his breath, the belt that had bound him and her together was removed and replaced where it rested most of the time, his eyes turning to his now-sputtering agent while his one of his hands rose to absent-mindedly rub the back of his head where it made contact with the door.

"Right now, don't worry about how I got here or why. Just get us to the office." His voice was unsettlingly calm, but his gaze was turbulent in the way it looked at the elder man. "ASAP. I'll tell everything when we get there."

That was all that needed to be said, apparently; Morrison muttered something that went unheard under his breath before turning back to the front and starting off again, keeping his own gaze on the pair still sprawled across his back seat through the rear-view mirror hanging from the windshield. He had to admit as they went on that she looked … dead. Every so often, a bit of a deeper, ragged breath escaped her and that deterred his suspicions of her status of not-living. But the glazed look in her ever-open eyes was enough to throw anyone off.

The red-clad hunter was trying to rouse her on the way, all the while keeping himself stable enough to keep from sliding around on sharp corners. Needless to say, for all his efforts, they were not working as far as Morrison was concerned. He had no idea just how well they were actually working, did not see Dante's face actually beam or hear the more frantic call in his voice afterward when he received a very light stirring from the girl.

After what seemed an eternity of trying not to fall off the backseat onto the floor, the car was brought to an abrupt halt in front of the aged structure that held the office. It was labeled with those damned gaudy red neons on the eve over the dual front doors that read '**Devil May Cry**'. It was late afternoon, almost evening, and within the next few hours, the sun would be completely below the horizon and those lights would turn on. Of course, the '**D**' on '**Devil**' was beginning to flicker, but the sign got the message across. Most of the time…

The car had barely stopped when the devil hunter in question was already out of it in a loud flutter of red leathers, having entered the building even before Morrison had the key out of the ignition and was rising to stand out of the car. He was in the building in time to see the door to the loft swing lazily closed, the silhouette of the half-breed gone from even the fogged glass panes set into the upper door.

While Morrison stayed down in the main office, Twila had already been set upon the bed in the back corner of the room and covered. The chair set at the rickety old table across the room was pulled around as Dante removed Rebellion from its resting place at his back and the coat in one fell swoop. The heirloom sword was set against the wall near the only window in the room with its skull-like visage pointed out to face the room, the coat hung haphazardly from the outer post at the head of the bed. Dante settled onto the chair, setting his mercurial gaze protectively upon the comatose Russian, crossing his arms at his chest and his legs at the ankles in his typical pose of relaxing.

Morrison, on the other hand, had grabbed a one of his canned coffees from the fridge next to one of the couches downstairs, his mind muddled to the point that he had tried four times to unsuccessfully light a cigarette to calm his nerves. He had seen Dante do a lot of strange things in his time as his agent, of that he was undoubtedly sure. But appear out of thin air like that was certainly not one of them. What was this new job really about, he wondered?

The can was cracked open after he had finally steadied his hands enough to light the damned cancer stick, a few sips taken from the contents of the aluminum container after he took a good long drag off the cigarette. Afterward, he took a few deep breaths to return himself to his normal calm façade and readied to confront the white-haired hunter upstairs.

After all. He knew Dante was not normal himself; he probably just found a new way to get out and about. He did not know just how right he was. Of course, then there was the new girl to consider. She brought up new questions that cried out to be answered.

With a sigh upon realizing that the devil hunter was not going to come back downstairs for some time, Morrison took another drink of his canned coffee and a final inhale of the cigarette in his mouth before putting it out on the heel of one shoe and set the half-finished roll on the coffee table in between the two couches to finish off later. He could feel the nicotine going through his system, mingling with the caffeine of the coffee in his hand to fully calm him further before he trekked up the stairs to the loft.

Out of courtesy, he knocked on the doorframe at the top of the stairs even though he could see through the open door. Dante cast his eyes up briefly with a grunt of acknowledgment toward his agent before returning to his watch. It was a bit … strange to see him so vigilantly watching over someone as he was now. Half the time, he plain didn't give a damn about someone else's condition, or at least that was the idea he played across. The raven-haired girl was still lying with glazed-over eyes, though at least one of them twitched now as if she were trying to look at the newcomer as he entered the room. Morrison figured that she must have been someone pretty special or pretty loaded to catch Dante's attention as she apparently had.

A moment of silence passed between the three of them in the room, only broken by the occasional sip from Morrison as he drank contemplatively from his coffee can. Finally, when it felt like the silence had hit its heaviest, the elder man spoke up.

"Alright. I know I ... freaked out a bit back there and that was a tad uncharacteristic of me..." He paused with a small nervous-sounding chuckle, though only received that same glancing stare from the hunter to show he was listening. "But I do think that I am owed some form of explanation for having you suddenly show up in the back seat of my car when I know for a fact that you were _not_ there minutes before." Another pause was given then. "Tell me, Dante. What's going on?"

Still, the half-breed remained silent, though only for a second. It took him a few moments to find the words he wanted to say, and even then, it was not very explanative.

"Things got … a bit complicated during this last job..."

He didn't even sound like the Dante Morrison knew; the man was quiet. No witty or smartass remarks, no snide tones of voice. Something was wrong. And Morrison could feel it in the way the younger sat, spoke … kept looking out the open window from time to time before looking back to the girl in the bed.

"Complicated how?"

The older man's voice remained calm, understanding. As though telling his younger companion that whatever fell from his lips, he would believe.

"Just … complicated."

"What about Future's Seeing Stone?"

"I have it."

"Where is it?"

"Not on me…" A short silence ensued before Dante added with a nod of his head in the Russian's direction, "It's at her house."

Morrison looked once more to the girl, that one eye of hers still twitching. "Her house?" A moment was taken as though to let that answer process. "Why is it at her house?"

A longer silence fell across the hunter; he had to pick his words carefully before answering apparently, his brow furrowing lightly in thought. He had found his words and was readying to give his answer when a small noise from the bed turned his attention back there. During the time the two men exchanged words, few though they were, Twila had flickered out of her trance-like state, beginning to whimper slightly. She was probably afraid of the fact that the last place she was in that she remembered clearly was Zef's nightclub and now, she was in a place that she did not know. Not the best way to wake up after being in a coma; there had been cases of people completely loosing it when they woke up in a place they didn't know from such spells…

The subject of explanation was dropped for a moment as Dante jumped into action within milliseconds, at her side equally just as fast. She was blinking and looking at her surroundings frantically then with obviously terrified eyes, her gaze inquisitive in a scared way until they actually found a blurry red figure topped with white. She knew that blurred blob, raising a shaky arm from the haven under the blankets, the claw-tipped fingers eventually finding their way free and reaching up toward the white-haired half-breed.

When she could not reach him without straining passed her current limits, the whimpers began again and her eyes started to tear up. "D…"

That was all that managed to well up in her throat, the delicate Romany looking utterly frustrated that her vocal cords refused to work in that moment after all the effort she put into trying to say his name at least. It pissed her off so much that she actually started to want to cry, the blood that made up her tears beginning to pool in the corners of her eyes. Dante reached a hand down toward her, which she took hold of almost instantly, to keep her happy and calm before he turned his attention to Morrison, who stood by the door.

"Hey. Why don't you wait in the office and have a cigarette or something? You look like you need it." His tone of voice was soft, not something Morrison had ever heard come out of the hunter's mouth before. Something was indeed very wrong here, but he would wait to hear about the details later, when Dante did not seem so … occupied. "I'll be down when I've got her calm again…"

The elder man nodded his head sagely, watching as the devil hunter took a careful seat on the edge of the bed, reached down, and wrapped his arms around the girl's upper and mid-back, pulling her up and out of the blankets to rest in a sitting position with her head cradled against his shoulder. His left hand moved to pet her shimmering raven locks and that was the last Morrison saw of the scene before he turned and walked out of the loft.

It was a few moments after Dante's agent had left the room that Twila finally regained enough control of her vocal cords and throat to speak coherently, though she was still suffering from stuttering. And if her showing fear had torn Dante's heart out and stomped on it, the way she spoke now put it into a blender and made minced meat out of it _after_ stomping it.

"V…vhy does P… Papa not vhant me?"

He noticed her accent grew heavier in her distress, though it was still light enough he could understand her. Of course, he could not help but find that slightly heavier accent more … appealing. Something about it just … made him shiver, and unfortunately for him, they were not the bad kind of shivers. In a way, he kind of wished they were. These particular shivers only reminded him of the want he exhibited toward her, the want he was trying unsuccessfully to bottle up and hide away from even himself.

His mind flickered sharply back to the situation at hand. How could he answer that question when he did not _know_ the answer? Why _would_ her father hate her so much? That was going to be something that plagued his mind until he got an answer and only one person held it.

No.

Not a person.

One _thing._

Ivan.

Ivan held that answer. But right now, he could not confront the freak. Not with Twila the way she was now. There was a considerable pause before he was able to answer her, and he did not know how to word it, so he simply put it as easily as he could.

"I don't know. I honestly don't know."

It had the effect he expected; she curled up into a tighter ball against him and began to sob uncontrollably. Well … silently uncontrollably, if there was such a thing; he could feel her body shake against his, but could not hear her save the slightly stuttered breaths.

And that hurt. His mind raced, that voice called common sense scolding him, telling him to try to make it all better. He didn't want her to cry and it wasn't just morals this time. This was just because … _she_ was crying.

_Twila_ was crying.

His embrace around her tightened, trying to give her some feeling of comfort, the hand that was stroking her hair beginning to play with a random lock without him really realizing what it was doing. His thought process had been taken up with trying to put her mind at ease, halting on the best reply he could piece together in his head.

"I don't know why he hates you so much. But I will find out. I promised the Cat I'd keep you protected from him, in the meantime…"

"Zefit…"

There was a moment of stunned silence. "…Alright. I promised Zefit I'd take care of you. How many days are we down?"

"One."

A nod was given, slow and thoughtful. "One…" he repeated, though his voice trailed off with a slight sneer in the tone. He didn't like the sound of it at all, obviously, instead turning his attention back down toward the Russian woman and dealing with the fact that there were still two days for her to recuperate and before Ivan turned into a solid being.

Twila had managed to move herself, crawling without any obvious restraint into his lap and seemed to find her solace by practically burying herself into his chest and uttering a quiet yet sharp, "Cpyciba…"

And, while he did enjoy the contact she gave him (a little _too_ much, if there was such a way), he _needed _to talk to Morrison down in the main office as well. As much as he hated to do it, he rather did not want her to find any of the … obvious physical evidence of his attraction to her and so found that Morrison was indirectly a life-saver in this case. Gentle as he would his own child (had he any), Dante rose to his feet and lifted her with him, cradled in his arms against his chest.

"I've got a few things to take care of right now." he told her, turning around and shifting her weight to fit her frame temporarily on one arm (he now took note of how easy this was to do, what with her being so tiny as compared to himself). With his now-free arm, he moved the blankets aside, adding, "For now, just rest. That ass won't find you here. You're safe."

"V… vhere are you going?"

This next question out of her came out shaky, uncertain. And, despite himself, he loosed a tiny chuckle at how strange and awkward the situation was turning out to be.

"Just downstairs. I promise I won't leave the building." he reassured her, nodding his head toward Rebellion, still resting with its empty eye sockets glaring watchfully into the room from its spot near the window. "He'll watch over you while I'm not in here."

Fathomless red gaze was set to the sword at the wall, an almost tranquil pulse in her energy coming almost immediately at sight of it before that haunting gaze turned up toward the face of the half-breed still holding her, now having shifted her again so both arms could hold her up. She gave her permission to be left in the room to rest with a nod and he set her back on the mattress, taking notice that she did not make much of a dent on it. Lightweight little thing, wasn't she?

She caught his hand before he drew the covers over her, taking the time now to remove her own worn, grey, leather boots and drop them to the floor. No doubt, the footwear would prove to be uncomfortable now that she was aware of it.

It was easy to see that whatever immortal hand had crafted her really had made her to be perfection. But every 'perfect' creature had its flaws. Hers lied in her mind. That much, Dante saw. While Twila was without a doubt beautiful, she had those mental blemishes, those scars that would never go away, especially the ones her father had planted there.

Still … he could not really help but to admire the dainty bare feet as they came into view, attached to the prominent curves of her calves to her thighs and hips seen through the shape-enhancing red silk skirt that covered her lower body to her ankles, the poorly hidden lines along her waist and ribs kept under the black suede of the vintage corset and white blouse under that… There was something there that told him he was in deep, now; this was _much_ more than lust. And if it was lust, it was the most powerful case of it he had ever really experienced as far as he could remember. She stretched out across the mattress before shifting around and getting comfortable and that movement snapped him out of whatever trance he happened to be caught up in, drawing the blankets finally up and over her shoulders.

"I'll be within earshot." he told her, a reassuring tone on his voice before he took a chance and placed a small kiss on her right exposed temple. It was meant in a good-natured way and either she felt that was what it was or she was still in too much shock to really comprehend it; her hand did not rise in any way to take his face off for it, her eyes closing against it instead. It made for a pleasant picture in his mind when he rose to stand fully and cast a final glance across her, then around the room.

That one glance to her would stay to haunt the hunter for the rest of the evening; the way her body molded the blankets against her, how her hair fell across the plain silver-grey bed linens with a few rogue strands coming to rest peacefully across her face, painted lips parted ever so slightly. Those bottomless bloody pools of hers were veiled to the world and … well, she looked more dead than when he had brought her in. And yet, she looked more at peace than even when he saw her on her own turf. The sight drew forth a small smirk across Dante's face, giving a stern glance to the sword that rested still on the wall nearest the window before turning about to head down the stairs into the main office.

* * *

It had taken several hours. As expected, Morrison was sitting on one of the couches waiting the devil hunter's return from the loft, another cigarette hanging burning out the corner of his mouth. Dante had taken a post leaning on the front of the desk at the back of the room, his arms crossing across his chest, his legs crossing at the ankles as seemed to be his favored position. There had been a moment of silence before Morrison extinguished what was left of his cancer stick and spoke up, asking questions pertaining to the events that lead up to Dante appearing out of nowhere and landing in the back seat of the agent's car.

And, after careful deliberation, the white-haired hunter answered as best he could about the situation now at hand. He told everything with such fluidity as the memory popped up, it seemed to unnerve Morrison more and more the more he heard. By the end of the story, the older of the two was shifting rather uncomfortably around in his seat.

"You know, after all these years with all the things you've told me in the past …" Morrison began, then paused to finish off the second can of coffee he had taken from the fridge. "… Yeah. I'll agree. This one's the worst-sounding of everything so far. And it can only get worse." He looked up toward the open door of the loft, up the stairs and seemingly through the open door at the top of the stairs into the single room there. "Sounds like we're in for a particularly nasty ride until this is over. Just make sure you get that damned Seeing Stone. Our 'dearest' client is starting to ride on my nerves with his constant pushing for it…"

A hand was waved dismissively from Dante at that, a light laugh leaving him at the sarcastic emphasis his companion put on 'dearest'. "I'll have it in his hands before all this is over and done with."

That, mixed with a rather strained goodbye from both parties and Morrison promising to show up to check on the status of things later, was all that had transpired throughout the evening. Another few hours had passed of virtually nothing to do (though that was nothing really new) when the sun went down, Dante having delved in his usual meal of a pizza from his favorite little parlor no more than six blocks away. After all, they seemed to understand when he plainly stated 'No olives'.

No sounds had come from the loft and, not wanting to disturb the sleeping Russian at all (he had learned his lesson the first time the penalty for accidentally sharing a bed with that woman), Dante turned to one of the couches downstairs to give him somewhere to rest his head for a few hours at the least. He had stretched himself out across one of the two, propped his head up on his arms, and fell asleep faster than he expected with minimal shifting for a proper position. He had been out for the better part of an hour and a half when he sensed a rather cold feeling in the same room as him. It caused the hunter to rouse, one eye opening for a moment before he craned his neck over the arm of the couch to look in the direction of the loft. As expected, Twila stood just within the shadows of the stairwell, her eyes glowing brilliant heart-stopping red against the silhouette of her body and the darkness of the stairs.

"I …" she started, then stopped for a moment as if debating whether or not to say what was really on her mind, her gaze averting to her right and down during the pause until she had her words again. "I could not sleep…"

A fine white eyebrow rose in an arch on Dante's handsome visage, contemplating things on his own, apparently, though it was obvious he knew what she really meant. Having reached a decision, he slid back into position on the couch before raising his left arm and beckoning the Russian woman to join him with a jerk of his hand in his direction.

Only the flutter of the wine-red silk of her skirt really announced her movement across the floor; there were no footfalls, it almost seemed as though she floated to his side instead of walked, her skin and the highlights of her hair glowing faint red from the light of the sign just outside the massive bay window above the front doors.

_Lovely…_

That same hand used to call her to him fell to lightly pat his chest, wordlessly inviting her to join him on the couch. One could see the small beam she gave to the invitation almost like a lighthouse before her fragile-seeming compact frame was lowered to rest in a small bundle on his torso, her head resting just under his chin. While he kept his right arm propping his head up, the left was used to wrap around and rest on her curled frame, eventually moving to help her shift around to make the night more pleasant for the both of them. With the both of them comfortable finally, he moved his left arm to wrap about the little Russian's upper body, letting the fingers of his hand brush lightly through her hair. His chin rested gently on the crown of her raven-maned head and all too soon, her intoxicating scent of roses and blood infiltrated his nose and he fell asleep in its hypnotic fumes.

Needless to say, he had good dreams throughout the rest of the night.


End file.
